


Burn The Whore House [To The Ground]

by icerose92



Series: Burn The Whore House To The Ground [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/F, Human Trafficking, Master/Slave, Sexual Slavery, Slave Trade, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icerose92/pseuds/icerose92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where sex slavery is the norm, Santana is sold to a wealthy man who hopes that her company can help mend his daughter's broken spirit. Can a master who doesn't believe in the slave trade and a slave who only wants to be loved let go of their troubled pasts? AU Brittana (very small mentions of Faberry, Puckurt, Tike, and Samcedes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, and I am not profiting in anyway.
> 
> This is my very first Glee fic. Yes, I jumped on the sex slavery bandwagon. This is an AU, set in present day. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be, but I hope its half-way decent.

Lima, Ohio isn't a particularly large town. One could easily run from one city limit to the other and back again if they so wished.

Lima isn't a large town by any means, so when Santana Lopez is dragged into the auction house, she's surprised at how crowded the building is. It looks like everyone in Lima – plus the surrounding towns – is packed into the tiny space. It's still early, the blazing sun barely peeking from the horizon, but she's already caught wind of three violent outbreaks amongst the patrons.

Santana hopes the auction won't take long; it's already stifling in the auction house.

Santana watches the auctioneer as he fiddles with the dials on his amplifier, then casts her eyes to the shackles around her wrists as a guard strolls by; she can feel his gaze linger on her chest, and she tries to fold her arms around herself as much as possible. She'd only been given a pair of black sweat pants that were a size too large and a white t-shirt that was a size too small. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to get close enough to the front of the line to receive undergarments. Hell, she wouldn't even have a shirt at all if the boy in front of her hadn't been gracious enough to give up his – the very last one in the trunk.

"Good morning, everyone!" Santana winces as the speakers squeal for a few agonizingly long seconds. The grating noise is enough to quiet the chatter of the crowd, and the auctioneer continues. "For those of you who are new around here, my name is William Schuester, and I have had the pleasure of being Lima's Slave Auctioneer for five years now."

There's applause before Schuester carries on, rattling off a bit of Lima history, including a short list of auction donors, including – but not limited to – Sue Sylvester, Shelby Corcoran, Brian Pierce, and Michael and Julia Chang.

As the named guests stand to wave and receive a collected applause, Santana chances a glance out at the crowd. She vaguely remembers some of those who are standing. The Changs are very wealthy, and Santana's fairly certain that the couple only attends auctions for the networking opportunities. Today, though, their son sits fidgeting beside them, and Santana suspects he's here to make his very first purchase. _Good for him_ , she thinks bitterly.

Shelby and Sue seem to just enjoy the attention that they receive; Santana tells herself not to fall for the façade. Shelby's a tough negotiator with a domineering personality and a heart of ice; Santana's heard through the grapevine that Sue collects slaves like trophies, and that she has close to a hundred of them. Santana's not sure she believes the last part, but she supposes anything is possible.

There are a handful of others, but Santana finds her eyes drawn to Brian Pierce. Three times she'd been on various auction blocks, and every time he was there, observing but never bidding. He's tall and lean, but impressive muscles bulge under his tight blue shirt. His brutal, violent reputation reaches to all parts of the country, instilling fear in those who had never even met or been owned by the man. From what Santana's heard, he sounds more awful than the worst master she'd ever had. The blonde beside her – Quinn, Santana thinks – trembles, and she just knows that her eyes are on Pierce also. He's every slave's worst nightmare.

Santana flinches as a guard stomps by to shove her head down roughly; beside her, he does the same to Quinn.

Through the hazy blanket of panic she feels enveloping her, Santana hears Schuester finally start the selling portion of the auction. A small amount of slaves are sold back to the auction block. A scowling man in a wheelchair sells a girl by the name of Tina; Noah Puckerman – Santana remembers his name because he was always exceptionally flirtatious and kind to all of the slaves – sells a girl whose name Santana doesn't catch; someone takes over long enough for Schuester to sell his own slave, a remarkably clean woman named Emma.

Schuester steps back up, and the buying portion of the auction commences; Santana's stomach begins to knot with dread. She's never had any luck with masters. She can only hope that her black eye and busted lip will keep anyone from buying her today; nobody likes to spend money on battered property.

Buying goes in alphabetical order by slave last name. Those whose last names are unknown go first and are quickly swept up. Tina is pulled to the front again, and is immediately sold to the Chang's son, who forgoes the standard collar and leash and leads Tina through the doors by her hand.

Santana sighs sadly. It's only wishful thinking to be treated in such a chivalrous way. Masters like Chang are few and far between.

Further down the line, Sam is bought and hauled away by Dr. and Mrs. Jones, a "good luck in college" gift for their daughter. On the long drive to the auction house, sitting in the back of a cramped cargo truck, she and Sam had really clicked. He had been the only one to get Santana to even so much as look up from the floor with his goofy charm. Santana prays that he's treated well. Beside her, Quinn is shoved forward. In the crowd, Sue yells out a bid, but is quickly shot down by a short brunette. Quinn appears torn between disgust that she is now owned by this girl – Berry, if Santana had heard correctly – and elation that she is not owned by Sue Sylvester. Puckerman snatches up the kid who had given Santana his shirt, and just Chang had done with Tina, Puckerman refuses the leash and collar, leading Kurt out by the hand.

When Schuester reaches the L's on his list, Santana is shoved forward roughly. Unlike those before her, bids are not immediately called out. Santana can't say she's surprised; she's pretty banged up, her eye swollen shut and her lip busted painfully, and her profile – that Schuester is required to read - isn't very promising. She's illiterate, something surprisingly uncommon for a slave, and she's had a "history" of violent outbursts. What Schuester fails to mention is that she'd only gotten violent twice, only with one master, and he had quickly beaten the fight out of her.

Maybe it's enough to keep her from being bought for one more auction.

Since no bids are forthcoming, Schuester offers up a starter of five thousand. Santana's eyes roam behind her hair as the crowd points and whispers. Some make to stand and bid, but quickly change their minds. Finally, Sue sucks it up and brings her megaphone to her lips, offering to take Santana for the five thousand. Shelby is quick to respond with a bid of five hundred more. They battle intensely, Sue trying to outdo Shelby with her megaphone, and Santana thinks that they may start throwing punches soon.

Until a voice calls over the squabbling women.

"Thirty thousand!"

Santana's eyes widen. Surely she's not worth anywhere near that amount of money. She quickly seeks out her bidder, and immediately wishes that she hadn't.

Brian Pierce.

Santana would much rather be put back in her tiny cell at the slave farm.

There's a ruckus in the crowd as Sue shouts colorful insults through her megaphone and others join in with their own varied negative opinions about spending so much money on such a worthless slave. Schuester smacks his gavel on the podium, attempting to regain some semblance of control, while Santana's shackles are removed. Pierce signs her ownership papers quickly, tucks them into his back pocket, and stands in front of her, collar, leash, and restraints for her hands ready.

Any hope of being treated like a human and not a dog for once goes out the window as Pierce reties her hands in front of her and snaps the collar in place around her neck. It's filthy, the grime grating against her skin, and tight, restricting her air and circulation.

She doesn't dare tug on it.

Pierce leads Santana through the crowd with sharp tugs that make her stumble. Someone is brazen enough to grope her through her too-small shirt, and Santana feels her face flush with shame.

Life shouldn't be this way.

Santana had been born into slavery, the bastard child of a slave and a master too cowardly to claim his own daughter. He had sold Maribel while she was pregnant, citing illegal fraternization amongst his slaves that led her into pregnancy. She was bought by a man who'd raised Santana as his own. Strangely, Santana had thought of him as a father for years. She had thought of them as a family.

Until he had put a knife in both of their backs, hauling Maribel and a fifteen-year-old Santana to the auction block under false pretenses and selling them as two separate units.

Santana will never forget her mother's screams as Santana was bought and led away from her.

A new life. A year on the slave farm. A short, horrible string of masters that had succeed in breaking her.

Now eighteen, as far as she's concerned, this whole sex slave business could kiss the dirtiest part of her ass.

As she and Pierce break through the auction house doors, Santana inhales the summer air, feeling as though it may be the last time she ever does so. She'll no doubt be locked in another basement.

They reach Pierce's car, and she sneaks a look at him while he fumbles with his keys, waiting obediently for orders. He catches her stare and angrily jerks her towards him. "Don't eye me, girl," he mutters, placing his hand on her head to shove it down.

Santana swallows hard. He tugs her forward, grumbling something about her riding in the trunk instead. He pops the lid and pushes her inside, barely giving her time to flatten herself out before he slams it closed again.

If Santana thought it was hot in the auction house, it was nothing compared to the heat in the trunk of Pierce's car. Santana unsnaps her collar as sweat beads down her neck, fearing the dirty material would rub her neck raw and infect it. Her shirt clings to her worse than before. She bumps around as Pierce races over one speed bump after another, accidentally poking herself in her already black eye twice.

Sweat drips from her forehead and burns her eyes, and Santana wonders if Pierce might possibly be her last owner before she dies. Her masters have all been bad in their own rights, each having their own favorite ways of breaking a slave into submission – starvation, beatings, neglect – but, with the things she's heard around the slave farms and auction blocks, Santana wouldn't be surprised if Pierce was the type of man to go straight to the beatings.

She could possibly be beaten to death as soon as tonight, she realizes.

Would Pierce do that to a slave that he shelled out thirty thousand bucks for?

With no concept of time, Santana begins to think that she may just die right now from heat exhaustion. She had been given a small sip of water as she'd stepped out of the cargo truck earlier, but nothing since then, and her throat is parched. Her sweatpants make her sweat in places she'd never known she could sweat before, and her wrist restraints coupled with the sheen of sweat on her body rubs her wrists raw.

Finally, the car stops and the low hum of the engine desists. Santana scrabbles to snap the collar back on as the lid rises and Pierce comes into view. He tugs sharply on the leash and Santana stumbles onto solid ground once more. Pierce slams the lid, looks around the driveway for a moment, and then eyes Santana appraisingly. She looks down, wondering what he's suddenly so interested in; sweating so profusely has made her too-small white shirt completely transparent. It clings to her torso, giving Pierce a full show. Santana looks away in shame, but doesn't attempt to cover up.

Pierce grunts, and to Santana it sounds like approval. "Brittany will love it."

Santana draws her eyebrows together as she's led up to Pierce's home. Brittany? Was she Pierce's wife? Santana hadn't seen a ring on his finger, but she knows she could have missed it. Had Pierce bought her to fulfill some three-way fantasy he has?

Pierce pulls her into the house and chains the door behind him. It's a surprisingly small house for a man who had spent thirty thousand dollars without batting an eye. Santana had expected a mansion, or at least something other than a plain, two story house.

"Beast!" Pierce yells out, startling Santana.

 _Wait._ Why was Pierce calling his wife a beast?

"Master?" Santana chances a glance to her right where the voice came from. The large woman standing in the doorway turns concerned eyes to Santana for a moment. Her face looks much like Santana's, bruised and battered. There's a large mark on the side of her face, like she'd recently been backhanded. If this is what Santana has to look forward to, she wishes she'd died in the trunk of the car.

"Where's Brittany?" Pierce demands. "Her car wasn't in the driveway."

"Finn Hudson picked the car up about an hour ago, sir." She clenches her dish cloth in her hands. "It wouldn't start yesterday-"

Pierce waves his hand, interrupting her. "I remember now," he mumbles. "Thank you, Shannon." Looking pleased at the use of her first name, the woman bows slightly before retreating back to the kitchen. Pierce jerks the leash and Santana obediently follows up the stairs, casting one last glance at the woman, who was now standing just in the kitchen doorway, nodding to her encouragingly.

Santana tries to take comfort in the fact that she's not the only slave in the Pierce household.

She's led to an open door. Pierce looks in briefly, cracks a wide, genuine smile, and grabs Santana by the back of her neck. Santana gasps in surprise as he tangles his fingers in her hair and forces her into the room and to her knees.

"Brittany!" He calls out. "Britt, look what daddy bought for you!" Pierce jerks Santana's head up and she winces as the pain explodes through her skull. She forces her eyes open.

Brittany – or who Santana assumes is Brittany – stands before her in a tank top and shorts. Her blonde hair is tied back, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes – the bluest eyes Santana has ever seen – are wide, almost as if she's afraid.

"Well, baby, what do you think?" When Brittany remains silent, Pierce kneels down to talk to Santana. "You will treat my daughter with respect. You will cater to her every wish, her every need. Do you understand?" Santana tries to nod, choosing to remain silent for fear that she would be speaking out of turn. Pierce tugs roughly on her hair and she emits a sharp cry, making Brittany jump. "Answer me."

"Yes," she rasps through clenched teeth. "I understand."

Pierce stands up and finally releases his hold on her. He steps around her now slumped form and wraps his hands around Brittany's biceps, forcing her to look at him. They look similar, Santana muses; they have the same mouth shape, the same eyes, and the same athletic posture. She marvels at the difference in how he handles Brittany, with love and care, like she might break at any moment, to the way he'd handled her moments ago, not giving a fuck about her well-being.

"She's yours, Britt," he says softly, and smoothes some errant hair away from Brittany's face. "You can do whatever you want with her. Happy late birthday, sweetheart."

Santana scowls at her lap as Pierce presses a kiss to the top of Brittany's head and leaves the room. Yeah, she would end up being a fucking birthday present. And a late one at that. Just fucking great.

The silence is heavy. Brittany hasn't spoken or moved, and Santana is terrified to lift her eyes from the floor.

Finally, Santana can see Brittany's feet shuffling closer, and she sits up a bit straighter, waiting for orders. They never come, however, as Brittany slips past her and out the door.

Santana slumps again; yeah, she would much rather be back on the slave farm.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana's not quite sure how long she's on her knees, but when she feels gentle fingers on her shoulder she realizes that it wasn't nearly as long as she'd imagined. A hand appears in front of her face, and Santana slowly looks up.

The woman from the kitchen is smiling down at her kindly. "C'mon," she says. "Let's get you cleaned up." When Santana makes no move to take the offered hand, she kneels down and unsnaps Santana's collar. Santana sucks in air and rubs at her sore skin. The woman takes her hands away from her neck and begins to work on the ties around Santana's wrists. "I'm Shannon."

Santana watches Shannon work. She wonders where Pierce is, where Brittany is. There are no other sounds in the house, and she assumes that she and Shannon are now alone. She glances over her shoulder just in time to see Brittany breeze by; she doesn't look happy. Santana swallows hard and looks back to Shannon, whose fingers appear to be a bit too big to work Pierce's tight knots out of the ties. "Why did he call you a beast?" She asks quietly, her words grating against her dry throat.

Shannon pauses and looks at Santana curiously for a moment. When it dawns on her what Santana is referring to, she chuckles. "No, he wasn't calling me a beast." Santana furrows her eyebrows as Shannon stands to rummage through Brittany's desk drawers. She knows what she heard; Shannon telling her that she doesn't makes her kind of mad. Shannon turns back around, scissors in hand, and she must sense Santana's brewing attitude because she says, "It's my last name. B-e-i-s-t-e. Beiste."

Santana nods, accepting the answer even though she's not really sure of any other way to spell the word. Shannon doesn't need to know that, though. Shannon slips the blades of the scissors carefully under the ties and snips them off. "That's unfortunate," Santana finally says, and Shannon chuckles again, a bit darkly, and it's obvious that the way her name is oddly linked to her status hasn't escaped her. Santana chews her bottom lip and touches her wrists carefully in turn. She hears the ties hit the bottom of the waste basket near the desk, and this time when Shannon offers her hand, Santana takes it and allows herself to be hauled to her feet.

Shannon bats Santana's hands away as she begins to rub her wrists. "You'll make it worse." She turns to the dresser by the window and pulls out a gray pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt; both have the same letters on them, scrawled in red. Santana wishes she knew what they said. "We'll get you all cleaned up. What's your name, kid?" Santana studies Shannon as she pulls light blue, duck printed undergarments from a different drawer. She looks around, taking in the light colors of the room, the breeze filtering through the open window, the movies and CDs and stuffed animals littering the flat surfaces. "If you don't tell me your name, I'm going to keep calling you 'kid'," Shannon warns lightly.

Santana jumps slightly, having almost forgotten that she wasn't alone, and snaps her attention back to Shannon, who seems worried that she actually might not have a name. "I'm Santana. Santana Lopez."

Shannon smiles and nods. "Well, Santana, I think Brittany drew you a bath, so we should get you cleaned up."

Shannon leads her into the hallway. Santana looks around and trains her ears, but, just as before, there isn't a sound to be heard. She tries to pay attention to what Shannon's saying, but Santana can't keep her mind from wandering. Pierce had told Brittany plainly that Santana belonged to her, but Pierce had signed her papers. Who then, exactly, was Santana's master? Did she take orders from Brittany, Pierce, or from the both of them?

She's pretty sure she already knows what kind of master Pierce is, but Brittany's a mystery. Before today, Santana had thought that Pierce was somewhat of a loner; he never appeared to talk to anyone at the auctions, and Santana knows that if she'd seen Brittany before she would have definitely remembered.

Brittany hadn't said a word to her, had barely even looked at her before walking out. Santana thinks that, if she could categorize masters, and based on the masters she's had in the past, Brittany would definitely fall under neglectful. When she was bought by her first master, he had immediately thrown her into the basement and had left her there for two days, only coming to check on her when he'd heard her trying to smash a window to escape.

Santana pictures Brittany doing that once she's cleaned up.

Santana's brought back to reality when her bare feet leave carpet and touch cold tile, just in time to hear Shannon tell her that Pierce left for work, so she doesn't have to worry about him. Santana breathes a relieved sigh and looks to the full bathtub, lined with assorted soaps and shampoos. She supposes this is strictly Brittany's bathroom.

"Use anything you want," Shannon offers, but before she can slip out the door, Santana turns to her.

"Can I ask you something?" Shannon nods. Santana pulls her hands up in front of her stomach and fiddles with her fingers, afraid of the answer to her question. "Who is my master?" The words make her stomach churn. "I'm…a bit confused."

Shannon takes a quick look down the hall, then closes the door silently. "Well, Brian is my master." Santana frowns curiously, wondering if Shannon is regularly allowed to call Pierce by his first name, or if it just slips sometimes. "He bought you for Brittany because…"

When Shannon trails off, Santana attempts to fill in with, "Because it was her birthday."

Shannon offers a tight lipped smile, but moves on. "So Brittany's your master…or mistress. But I'm not sure how Brian will handle this since he signed your papers and not her." Her answer doesn't ease Santana's confusion, and Shannon seems to understand. "Take orders from Brittany. Keep your ears open around Brian. Just in case."

"Thank you," Santana whispers.

Shannon nods and opens the door, but before she steps out she says, "Brittany…doesn't talk much. So I wouldn't worry too much about it."

Then Shannon's gone, the door is closed, and Santana stands a bit stunned. Brittany doesn't talk? To anyone? To Santana she had looked like a girl who could go on for hours about the tiniest things. Shannon made it sound as though what Santana had mistaken for rudeness and neglect was actually something much, much deeper.

_Great. Household drama,_ she thinks as she pulls her drying shirt over her head and drops it into a pile with her sweatpants. _Figures I'd walk right into a soap opera._

Santana sighs when her toes touch the water; it's cool, exactly what she needs. Santana decides to enjoy every second of it, because there's no telling when she'll be allowed to bathe again. She wets her hair and rubs in a generous portion of fruity shampoo – she can't read the label, but there's a strawberry on it and it smells amazing – and massages the back of her head where Pierce had held her.

Just as she finishes washing the shampoo out, the door creaks open slowly and Brittany slips in, towel in hand. Against her better judgment, Santana tenses and pulls her knees to her chest protectively; the last time she had tried to bathe, her master had held her under the water until she blacked out. Brittany drops the towel on the closed toilet lid and pulls a wash cloth from it's folds.

Santana wonders is she's supposed to bathe Brittany when she's done, wonders if the Pierce's didn't use slaves for sex, but as servants.

She'd be completely okay with that; she's had her fill of being violated.

Brittany steps closer and extends her hand, silently offering the wash cloth to Santana. Santana hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking from Brittany's face - _her beautiful fucking face,_ Santana thinks – to the wash cloth, before she finally reaches out a trembling hand to take it. She holds it limply, feeling stupid that she's not exactly sure what she's expected to do. Is this an invitation to wash herself, or some weird test of her obedience?

Brittany studies her for a moment. Her gaze isn't judging and it doesn't seem as though she's attempting to get off on the image of Santana. It's none of the things Santana is used to. She's curious, and Santana can't help but watch as Brittany's eyes flit over her red wrists, her split lip, and her black eye.

Brittany catches her eye, and Santana flinches, expecting her head to be shoved down violently; slaves don't make eye contact unless they're told to. Instead, Brittany turns her body slightly to open and dig through the medicine cabinet. Santana takes a deep, steadying breath and uses the opportunity to quickly wash herself off. Once Brittany is finished in the medicine cabinet, she closes it and bends to pull something from under the sink. Depositing her findings beside the pile of clothes Shannon left, Brittany picks up the towel and unfurls it. She holds it up and looks at Santana expectantly.

Reluctantly, Santana lifts herself out of the tub and stands in front of Brittany, dripping water everywhere and awaiting instructions. Brittany steps forward and motions for Santana to lift her arms, which she does immediately; this, she thinks, is the hardest part…learning how to be exposed to a complete stranger all over again.

Expecting to be prodded, touched, inspected, and groped, Santana is pleasantly surprised to feel nothing but the fluffy green towel and Brittany's soft knuckles touch her skin as she tucks the towel closed. Brittany guides her gently to sit on the toilet lid. She touches Santana's chin gently and turns Santana's head to inspect her eye. She exhales heavily through her nose and holds up her index finger before slipping out the door once more. Santana bounces her foot nervously, unsure of what to do. Brittany's only gone a minute, though, sparing Santana from driving herself crazy wondering what is happening.

Really, who's the slave and who's the master around here anyway?

Brittany holds a plastic baggie full of ice, and she presses it gently to Santana's eye. Santana tries to hold in her displeased hiss, but it bleeds through her gritted teeth against her will. She flinches when Brittany grabs for her hand, fearing punishment, but Brittany just presses it against the bag, silently asking Santana to hold it herself.

With both of her hands now free, Brittany takes her other supplies into her lap. "I'm Brittany," she says quietly, and her voice is so sweet, so innocent, that Santana almost smiles.

Almost.

"Santana," she whispers. Brittany seems to mull her name over, then nods her approval and returns her attention to her supplies. "Mistress-"

Brittany holds up a hand, cotton ball pinched between her thumb and index finger, stopping Santana's words. "Don't," she says simply, and Santana swallows thickly and nods, ashamed that she's spoken out of turn and obviously upset Brittany. Brittany dabs something onto the cotton ball and brings it close to Santana's face. "This is going to sting," she warns. She waits. It takes Santana a moment to realize that she's waiting for permission to do what she wants, and it makes her heart hurt as she nods.

Brittany presses the cotton ball to Santana's split lip and she's right; it burns like hell, but Santana's almost too caught up in Brittany's eyes and her own racing thoughts to notice.

What exactly is Brittany's deal? She should be breaking Santana in, beating her into submission or using Santana's body to fulfill her own needs. She's not supposed to be tending to Santana, letting her bathe and treating her wounds. This isn't master protocol, and to be honest, Santana's skeptical. It has to be a trick, a different technique for breaking her; she'll let her guard down, then when she least expects it-

Brittany stands, breaking Santana from her thoughts. Santana looks to the floor, refusing to make eye contact, and she feels fingers brush her bare shoulder gently. Santana lifts her head, but doesn't look directly at Brittany. Brittany ghosts her fingers over Santana's jaw, and Santana suppresses a shiver, but takes it as silent permission to make eye contact.

Brittany lifts the corners of her mouth slightly, but when her attempt at a smile fails, she looks down to her own wrist. Curious, Santana flicks her eyes down also. Brittany pulls a thin hair band from her wrist and holds it up for Santana to take. Once Santana's fingers close around the object, Brittany gestures invitingly to the pile of clothes beside Santana, picks up her old discarded ones, and leaves, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Santana pulls the ice pack from her eye and stares at the hair tie in her hand for a moment. It's been years since she'd had her hair pulled back; she's not even sure she could do it on her own. Santana tosses the tie to the side, quickly dries her body, and slips into the clothes. They're a tad big on her, but it's a welcome contrast to the skin tight shirt that she'd worn earlier. Santana throws the towel into what appears to be the clothes hamper and pulls the drain in the tub.

Santana slips the hair tie Brittany had given her over her own wrist and assesses her face in the mirror. The ice has made the swelling in her eye lessen considerably. Her lip looks bad, possibly slightly infected, but whatever medication Brittany had applied to it has made the cut stop throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She rakes her fingers through her hair, attempting to at least partially untangle it.

If Santana's being honest with herself, she knows she's scared, more so than usual. Bouncing from master to master becomes less and less of a big deal the more you do it. When you think about it, masters are usually all the same. Sure, they have different techniques, but they all ultimately add up to the same rules and treatment. All shout orders from the beginning, teaching the rules, punishing when the rules are broken. But Brittany…shell barely speak at all, let alone give Santana orders.

What if she does something wrong unintentionally?

Santana sighs heavily and steps into the hallway. She's not sure if she should go back to Brittany's room or go downstairs. She wasn't really paying attention on the way to the bathroom, and she's not exactly sure which of the closed doors is Brittany's. She pads carefully to the stairs and peers down. She can hear Shannon rattling around, and she figures it's okay to at least go down and see what she's supposed to do.

"There she is," Shannon says when she spies Santana stepping off the bottom stair. Brittany is sitting at the table, tracing patterns on the wood with her finger, seemingly in a different world. At her feet sits the chubbiest cat Santana's ever seen. "Are you hungry, kid?" Without waiting for an answer, Shannon gestures to the chair across from Brittany with her spatula. Santana looks to Brittany for direction, but she hasn't looked up. Hesitantly, Santana sits on the very edge of the chair. Shannon points the spatula at Brittany. "This one just polished off two grilled cheeses and wants another. How do you like yours?"

Santana turns alarmed eyes to Brittany, wondering where the girl put all that food. Then, she looks to Shannon and shrugs helplessly; she hasn't had grilled cheese in years, and she's not positive about how her mother used to make it.

Shannon nods. "I'll just make it the same as Britt's." Santana laces her fingers in her lap and keeps her eyes on them until her plate is in front of her. When she looks up, Brittany has already eaten almost half of her own. She motions for Santana to eat.

Santana takes a couple of bites, trying to keep her eyes on Brittany for any signs of displeasure with her behavior. Eventually, her hunger gets the best of her, and before Santana knows it her first sandwich is gone and another is dropped onto her plate, accompanied by a chuckle and murmurs of being eaten out of house and home from Shannon. Shannon sets a glass of blue liquid in front of her – Santana thinks it might be Kool-Aid – and Santana eyes it. Brittany reaches over and pushes it closer with one finger, and Santana grabs it and gulps the juice. She hadn't realized just how thirsty she was. Shannon refills her glass with another laugh.

Just as Santana is picking up her second sandwich, she hears Brittany click her tongue twice; Santana drops her sandwich and sits up straight and at attention. She's used to being addressed in such a way, like she's a dog.

Which, she guesses, is exactly what she is to these people.

From the stove, Shannon whips her head around, eyes wide. Santana's eyes land on Brittany, but Brittany isn't looking back at her. She's breaking off a small chunk of grilled cheese and offering it to the cat at her feet with a smile. It's the first smile she's seen Brittany succeed in plastering on her face, and Santana wishes she had a camera because it's so beautiful and so infectious that Santana finds herself wanting to smile too.

Santana looks to Shannon next. Shannon looks a bit panicked, and Santana realizes that she didn't want Santana to take Brittany's call for her cat as a call for her own attention. Shannon shoots her a reassuring smile, then looks back to Brittany. "Britt," she scolds lightly, and Brittany's hands fly to her lap. She looks to Shannon, and the woman gives her a look that makes her redden. She returns to her lunch looking like a scorned child.

A minute passes; Santana finishes her sandwich as Shannon makes her own lunch and cleans up a bit. Brittany eyes Shannon from the corner of her eye and discretely rips off another bit of her sandwich. Santana can't hold back her small smile when Brittany sneakily hands it to the cat, returning her hand to the table just as Shannon turns around.

"So, what are you up to the rest of the day?" Shannon asks curiously before biting into her grilled cheese. Santana's not quite sure who she's talking to since she wasn't really looking at either of them. When Shannon doesn't get a response, she glances at Brittany. "Going to Mike's?" Her voice is hopeful, and when Brittany shakes her head, Shannon tries again. "Rachel's?" Another shake of Brittany's head. "Puck's? Finn should have your car back by dinner. I think it'd be good if you got out of the house for a bit." Brittany frowns in Shannon's direction. Santana mirrors the expression; Shannon's motherly behavior baffles her. Is Shannon Pierce's slave and Brittany's mom? Shannon sighs. "At least go out into the backyard for a bit," she offers before dropping the subject entirely.

Brittany drops her last sandwich half onto her plate and pushes her chair back. Followed by her waddling cat, Brittany opens the sliding glass door and slips onto the back deck. Santana watches as she plops down on the top step and pulls the cat into her lap.

Feeling a bit braver since it's just her and Shannon, Santana asks, "Why doesn't she speak much?"

Shannon sips her water for a moment. "We're not really sure," she says finally. "It's been this way ever since she was 15."

Santana traces the rim of her plate. "What happened?"

Shannon takes longer to answer this time, and Santana's eyes never leave Brittany's back. Finally, after Santana's sure that Shannon has mulled over whether she can be trusted or not, she says, "She lost her mother."

Santana feels her breath catch and all she can manage to say is, "Oh." She's always assumed that masters and slaves had absolutely nothing in common, but as it turns out, she and Brittany are similar in one very, very big way.

"Why don't you go keep her company?" Shannon suggests softly. She begins to clear the table. "She won't say much, but she likes having friends around. Plus, you look like some fresh air would do you some good." Santana nods and stands, completely unsure of what she'd do once she got out there. She's not Brittany's friend. She's her slave. How is she supposed to help the girl, other than her intended purpose? "Oh, Santana?" Shannon calls when Santana's hand is on the door handle. "Don't worry; you're safe with Brittany. Just sit with her."

There's an odd shimmer in Shannon's eyes, almost like unshed tears and a little bit of pride, but Santana doesn't acknowledge the words as she opens the door. Brittany's a master; no slave is safe with masters. She walks slowly towards Brittany, giving the girl time to tell her to fuck off if she wants. The heat from the deck burns her feet, but she's too distracted by the wonderful breeze whipping her hair to notice. She drops down beside Brittany silently, leaving as much space between them as the railings will allow.

The cat in Brittany's lap turns to her abruptly and clambers into her lap. Panicking a bit, Santana freezes; she's never held an animal before.

Brittany reaches over and scratches behind its ears. "This is Lord Tubbington," she says quietly. Santana narrows her eyes at the strange, yet oddly appropriate name. She can't help but wonder if the Lord part is because he's the pet of a master, or if it's just coincidence. She runs a hesitant hand over his back. "Tubbs," Brittany continues. "This is Santana." Lord what's-his-name looks up at Santana, wholly unimpressed, and jumps to the ground to chase a butterfly.

They sit in total silence for hours, listening to the birds chirping and the cars passing on the other side of the house. Santana finds that she doesn't mind Brittany's company; the longer they sit, the less tense she is. She forgets, for just a few sweet moments, that she's supposed to be keeping her ears open for any orders. Instead, she allows herself to enjoy being outside without being leashed to a stake. She breathes the fresh air and closes her eyes and just sits with Brittany quietly. It's comfortable, a type of silence that Santana is unaccustomed to; usually when it's silent, she's waiting for yelling and barked orders and flying fists while cower in a corner in fear. 

It's hard for her to believe that a week ago that was her life, and now she's sitting calmly with her master, who happens to be a beautiful woman.

It almost makes her cry tears of happiness.

Shannon had said that she was safe with Brittany; now, Santana thinks she might believe it. Brittany doesn't seem like she could violently backhand Santana without a second thought. She doesn't look like a person who could yell at Santana for hours about everything she isn't doing right.

When the sun is barely giving them light, Shannon calls them in for dinner.

While Brittany seems pretty mellow, Pierce is an entirely different story. When he arrives home in the middle of dinner, dropping a kiss to the top of Brittany's head and mumbling about an idiotic Finn Hudson, the air in the room becomes heavy with tension.

Santana sits stiff beside Brittany, pushing her food around her plate. Pierce is busy bitching about work and has yet to address her presence, so she doesn't want to draw attention to herself.

"What is this?" He demands when Shannon sets is plate in front of him. Santana sees Brittany stiffen from the corner of her eye.

Shannon flinches. "Master, its meat-"

"Didn't I specifically tell you to make spaghetti? This is a special day for Brittany, and spaghetti is her favorite!"

Brittany whimpers softly, and Santana thinks that maybe she's the only one who's heard her. She wonders how often this happens; she thinks she knows what comes next.

Shannon opens her mouth to respond, but Pierce beats her to it. "Britt, take your mutt upstairs and find something to do."

"Dad, please don't-"

"Now, Brittany."

Brittany looks to Shannon, her eyes wide and glassy, and Shannon smiles for her sake, nodding to let her know that it's okay. She looks at Santana, silently begging her with her eyes to go with Brittany, to look after her. Santana hurries to catch up to Brittany, and before they're even halfway up the stairs a sharp smack is heard and is soon followed by another. Brittany picks up her pace, barely giving Santana time to enter her room before she slams and locks the door.

Brittany presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and a small sob rips from her body. Santana stands awkwardly; there's no way that she can make this better, and she's afraid that, if she tries, Brittany will lash out and hit her too.

Completely ignoring Santana, Brittany rips her shirt over her head and lets her shorts pool around her ankles. Santana's muscles go rigid and she waits to be told to undress too. Of course Brittany would wait until they were completely alone to use her in this way. She won't fight it; she'll let it happen, and when Brittany's finished with her body, she'll curl into a ball.

It's no different than anything she's experienced since she was 15.

She watches Brittany stalk to the dresser and pull out a pair of sweatpants identical to her own and a red shirt with white letters on it. She pulls on both items of clothing, and Santana relaxes, feeling a bit lightheaded with relief.

She won't be violated tonight.

Brittany slides into bed and faces the wall. She lies still for a moment before rolling over to turn off her lamp. She jumps a bit, as if she'd forgotten that Santana was there too.

"I…" She begins, but trails off. She looks embarrassed, and if Santana hadn't just witnessed the same thing as she did, she'd say it was because she'd forgotten Santana. But she knows; Brittany's embarrassed of her father, the way he's treating Shannon at this moment, and Santana knows that Brittany probably blames herself. "I don't know…" Finally, she resigns her attempts to find something to say and settles for lifting her blankets up, silently encouraging Santana to join her. Santana climbs in silently, and turns off the lamp since she's closest.

Down stairs, she can still hear Pierce and Shannon, the yelling and the beating. She turns her head to Brittany; she's trembling, her hands are covering her ears and she's humming softly. Santana reaches a cautious hand out and lays it flat on Brittany's back, between her shoulder blades. It takes a moment, but Brittany's trembling stops.

Santana closes her eyes and hums along with Brittany, trying to drown out the sounds. Together, they drift off.


	3. Chapter 3

It's still dark when Santana jolts awake, the remnants of a night terror making the hands that move to push her hair from her face quake. Her spine had tingled oddly, and something had told her that someone was reaching for her. When she had cracked her eyes open, a large figure had appeared to be looming over her and, startled, she'd jumped.

Santana pulls her knees up to rest her elbows on them. Her hands catch her head as it falls forward and she tries to catch the breath that had been knocked from her in her panic. She knows she's being paranoid, but it had seemed so real.

Somewhere in the house a door slams and the body beside Santana shifts. She turns her head slightly to stare at Brittany; she's half on her back and half on her side, facing Santana, and her arms are stretched in front of her, like she'd been grabbing for Santana. Santana huffs slightly; that's the feeling she'd gotten, Brittany reaching for her in her sleep. If Santana were lying down, the moon light would be shining directly on the bed, on Brittany.

Santana hasn't met many people in her life – it's hard to meet people when you're locked in a basement – but of those she has met, Santana thinks that Brittany may be the prettiest. She lays back and studies Brittany's profile, the way her nose scrunches up in displeasure when the moon shines directly on her face, the way her chest rises and falls, and the way her lips part ever so slightly before she lets out a quiet mumble that sounds suspiciously like, "too bright."

Santana kind of wants to reach over and brush the hair from Brittany's forehead, but she can't, so to resist the urge she rises from the bed and tip-toes to the window. She takes a few seconds to look out at the front yard. The neighborhood is quiet at night, other than an occasional barking dog. It's so very unlike a lot of the places Santana has lived before. It's almost too quiet for her.

Silently, she draws the curtains together and returns to the bed. Brittany shifts to lie completely on her side, facing Santana and mumbles, "Thankies."

Santana smiles a bit and closes her eyes.

\---------

Even with the curtains closed, the next time Santana opens her eyes the room is considerably brighter.

And this time, there _is_ a large body looming over her.

Santana jumps, and Pierce stares at her like he can't quite comprehend just why she's sleeping _in_ the bed and not _under_ it. Santana realizes that her hand, the one lying beside her head, is clasped loosely with Brittany's. She immediately lets go and averts her eyes; after what she'd witnessed happen to Shannon, she doesn't want to take her chances. If possible, she's even more afraid of him than she was when he'd bought her. After a long minute – during which Santana forgets how to breathe – Pierce leans over her and presses a kiss to Brittany's temple. He doesn't spare another glance at Santana as he leaves the room.

\---------

It's not long after Pierce leaves that Brittany wakes up. Santana watches her from the corner of her eye and she blinks sleepily a few times, then rubs her eyes. Brittany yawns, then settles her eyes on Santana, and Santana unintentionally draw into herself a bit. She looks to the ceiling so that she doesn't have to watch Brittany watching her.

Santana expects orders to fall from Brittany's mouth, to be told to get dressed or to help Brittany dress herself. Instead, Brittany sighs quietly – it sounds a lot like irritation to Santana – and climbs over Santana. For the brief second that Brittany is on top of her, straddling her, Santana squeezes her eyes shut tightly. This is it, she thinks, the moment that Brittany takes her body and shows her who is in charge. Brittany is the master; Santana is the slave. She'd had it easy yesterday, but it's time to re-learn the rules.

Brittany's weight disappears and Santana's eyes slide open hesitantly. Brittany's walked to her closet and is pulling a pair of jeans from a hanger. Santana breathes out and swings her legs off of the bed. She stands and stretches her muscles out. She licks her lips slowly, she thinks about how lucky she is to be spared for now, and she moves to stand a few feet from the closet.

She gulps, knowing that she's taking a huge risk by speaking before being spoken to, and musters up her courage. "What would you have me do, mistress?"

Brittany whips around to face her, and Santana's so startled at the sudden action that she takes a step back. Brittany glares at her. When she's finished in the closet, she thrusts a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top into Santana's hands. "Don't," Brittany repeats the word she'd uttered yesterday with a bit more force.

Santana hugs the clothes to her chest and nods, not really knowing what it is that she's doing wrong, what it is that makes Brittany so angry. She's only asking for orders. She wants to please Brittany; she wants to stay out of trouble.

Brittany hurriedly shucks out of her pajamas and pulls the jeans over her narrow hips. A t-shirt follows and she opens the top drawer of her dresser and pulls out a blue and purple knit beanie. Santana watches her put the beanie on her head and pull on the pom on the top a few times to situate it just so. Santana thinks its way too hot to be wearing such a thing, but it somehow makes Brittany more attractive, and she keeps her mouth shut.

Brittany looks back to Santana, her eyes widening a bit, and it seems to Santana that Brittany always forgets for a split second that she's not alone in the room. Santana wonders how long it will take for them to get used to each other.

Brittany waves towards the dresser – specifically the second and third drawers – and says, "Um…help yourself." Then, she slips out the door and disappears down the hall. Santana waits until Brittany's footsteps have faded down the stairs before she pulls off the clothes she'd slept in and replaces them with the ones in her hands. The shorts are way too big, and she has to tie them to get them to stay on her waist.

Santana bypasses the dresser; Brittany had given her permission to wear anything in there, but Santana still feels as though she'd be overstepping if she rummaged through the drawers without Brittany present. When she gets to the kitchen, Shannon is leaning against the counter, fanning herself with a partially open newspaper. Her face is a bit more bruised than it had been the night before, but she seems otherwise unharmed. When she spots Santana, her face reddens a bit, obviously embarrassed about the events of last night. Santana tries her best to offer a smile, but Shannon looks so sad and she herself is so scared, and she just can't push away the thought that, if she were as large as Shannon, she would most definitely fight back. A smile just doesn't seem to cut it.

"Morning, kid," Shannon says. Santana's a bit annoyed that Shannon continues to call her that, even after she'd said she would stop when she learned her name, but she waves awkwardly anyways. She looks around for Brittany. She spots her through the sliding glass door, calling her cat in from the backyard. Santana turns her eyes back to Shannon when she asks, "How'd you sleep?"

Santana shrugs and says, "Pretty good." And it's not a lie; aside from her night terror, she'd slept better than she had in years, but she doesn't exactly want to say that. Instead, she changes the subject. "Are…are you okay?"

Shannon waves a hand, dismissing the question as the door slides open and Brittany skips in with Lord Tubbington. "Breakfast isn't quite ready, so you guys should go watch TV or something."

Santana glances one last time at Shannon, who seems to feel fine, before following Brittany into the living room. Gingerly, she sits on the opposite side of the couch and watches as Brittany flips channels until she finds a cartoon. They sit quietly, and Santana can't keep her eyes from sliding to Brittany every time the girl lets a giggle slip.

She wishes Brittany would speak. Not only because the quiet make her anxious, but she has to admit that she likes Brittany's voice. It's unlike any sound that she's ever heard, so sweet and filled with curiosity; she's never been so captivated by someone before, so scared yet so comfortable.

When Brittany lets loose with an uncontrolled string of giggles, Santana opens her mouth and says, "Mistress-"

"What's your favorite color?"

Santana blinks and glances around the room. Was Brittany speaking to her? Seeing no one else, she turns her head back to Brittany. Brittany is staring at her, her face devoid of any emotion other than curiosity. Santana swallows, realizing she's forgotten the question. "Um…what?" She winces at the stupidity that will no doubt get her punished, or at least scoffed at.

"Your favorite color," Brittany says quietly. "What is it?"

Santana shakes her head; she's never really thought about it before. "R-red, I suppose," she stutters out. "Or purple."

Brittany's eyes dip below Santana's neck for a millisecond before she nods and returns her attention to the television. Santana pulls at her fingers, wondering what Brittany had been looking for in that last glance, if she'd found whatever it was, if she'd liked it.

"I like yellow," Brittany mutters before Santana can even think to return the question.

Santana stares at Brittany. "Yellow is…really pretty." She hopes that Brittany doesn't realize that she isn't referring to colors anymore; flirting with her master is not on the list of things that she should currently be doing.

Brittany's eyes glide over to her and this time she manages the smile that she'd been failing at. "So is red. And purple."

Santana snaps her gaze back to the television, her face heating slightly; she's been caught. Brittany had fully picked up what she had thrown down, and now Santana's embarrassed, even if Brittany had returned it to her.

From the center cushion, Lord Tubbington slams his paw down on Santana's thigh, and Santana jumps.

"He likes you." Santana looks dubiously at Brittany.

"Mistress-"

"My name is Brittany!" Santana's face falls at Brittany's outburst, and Brittany frowns deeply at her.

Santana swallows. "You don't want your slaves to call you 'mistress'?"

Brittany's frown, if possible, deepens. Santana tries to sink into the couch. "You're not my slave," Brittany says, her voice angry but still so quiet.

Santana furrows her eyebrows. If she's not Brittany's slave, then that means that she's obviously Pierce's, and that's just plain terrifying. "But your father said-"

"I don't care what he says!" Her voice is louder this time, and when she stands abruptly, Santana's arms reflexively fly up to shield her face.

"Brittany!" Shannon's startled voice makes Santana lower her arms to look to the entryway. Shannon looks upset as her eyes find Santana's cowered form. Santana's eyes flash up to Brittany. There are a range of emotions covering her face; guilt, shock, confusion, and Santana realizes that Brittany's not quite sure what's going on.

"Britt, breakfast is ready," Shannon says, leaving no room for argument. When Brittany's out of the room, Shannon motions for Santana to come to her. "Are you okay?"

Santana's knees tremble and she has to hold onto Shannon for a minute to stand properly. "I…I made her mad," she whispers.

Shannon smiles sadly at her. "Britt doesn't get angry easily; you deserve a medal."

When it becomes apparent that her joke had fallen flat, Shannon ushers Santana into the kitchen where a full plate is waiting for her across from Brittany.

"You want to tell me what happened in there?" Shannon asks Brittany seriously.

Other than giving a glare from the corner of her eye, Brittany ignores Shannon and continues to push food around her plate. When Brittany notices that Santana hasn't even touched her plate, she looks up. "I'm sorry," she says softly, and waits for a response.

Santana looks down and away and nods, silently accepting the unnecessary apology. Brittany resumes picking at her food.

Santana can't help but feel as if she's missing something.

\---------

Later, when Pierce returns home from work, he immediately sees that Brittany is upset. He yells at Santana for failing to please his daughter. He rants and paces and threatens everything from locking Santana in the basement to burying her alive, but he doesn't lay a finger on her.

When it becomes obvious that the entire episode has made Brittany even more upset, Shannon quietly dismisses them both from the table.

They dress for bed in silence and Santana listens to Brittany's quiet sniffling for a long time before her breathing finally evens out.

Santana stares at the ceiling, her ears still ringing unpleasantly from dinner. Pierce's words and insults bounce in her head; her heart aches as she remembers 'whore' and 'filth' but what had really gotten under her skin was Pierce's accusations that she'd failed to make Brittany happy. It's not like she's not trying, but whenever she so much as speaks to Brittany she's basically being told to shut up. How exactly is she supposed to satisfy her master without orders?

Santana's so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn't notice when Brittany rolls to face her, and starts at the murmured, "I'm sorry." Santana swallows but remains silent; she hasn't been given permission to speak. She feels Brittany's warm fingertips brush the back of her hand for a second. "He wasn't always mean."

Santana turns her head a bit to meet Brittany's stare. They've forgotten to close the curtains again, and the moon makes it easy to see Brittany's face. She's not sure what it is, but being with Brittany feels okay; it feels different, a good different despite the mix up before breakfast; it's something that she hasn't felt in years, something she can't quite put her finger on.

But one thing she knows for sure is that she _likes_ Brittany.

"You're really quiet," Brittany says, and Santana wants to remind Brittany that, one, so is she, and two, every time she tries to speak, Brittany tells her not to, but she doesn't dare. Brittany stares at her, searching, and Santana thinks that maybe Brittany can read her like a book because she follows up with, "You don't need permission to talk. I don't…"

She trails off and bites her lip like she's afraid of the words that she's not saying. Santana rolls to face Brittany, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You don't what?"

Brittany's lip slides from between her teeth and she shakes her head. "Goodnight, Santana." Then, she rolls to face the wall.

Santana spends most of the night staring at her back.

\---------

The next day, Saturday, Brittany skips breakfast and goes straight for her car keys, saying something about a lima bean. Santana stands awkwardly by the stairs, unsure of whether Brittany will take her or leave her with Pierce and Shannon. Pierce jumps up from his breakfast and grabs the collar and leash that he'd had on Santana before from the coat closet. He snaps the collar around Santana's neck and jerks her towards Brittany.

"Take your mutt," he says. He pushes the leash into Brittany's hand, and Brittany holds it loosely. He pulls Brittany to him and kisses her forehead. "Drive safe."

Brittany leads Santana to the passenger door of her car, and Santana looks towards the trunk, hoping that she won't somehow end up there again as she risks tugging on the tight collar. Brittany gestures to the passenger seat when Santana looks back at her for directions. Hesitantly, Santana sits down and Brittany closes the door behind her.

Brittany starts the car and the radio blares to life, making Santana wince. Brittany must notice, because she reaches over and turns the upbeat pop song down. Santana looks at her thankfully as Brittany backs out of the driveway. They drive for a few minutes, and Brittany pulls the car over. Santana looks around, wondering where they are; it's just another neighborhood, similar to Brittany's. Then, Brittany reaches over, startling Santana, and unsnaps the collar. Santana rubs at her neck and watches Brittany roll her window down and toss the leash and collar into the street.

Santana looks to Brittany, her mouth falling open. "What-"

"What kind of music do you like?"

Santana deflates. "I don't know," she whispers. "I've never…" She doesn't finish, though, and Brittany nods. She turns the radio up a bit and drums her fingers on the steering wheel as she pulls them back into the street. Santana bites her lip and watches the collar and leash disappear in the side mirror. "Thank you," she says quietly.

Brittany doesn't answer her.

\---------

As it turns out, the Lima Bean is not, in fact a food, but a coffee shop, which Santana supposes makes some kind of strange sense. When they enter the building, Santana drops her head and uses her hair to hide her face. She hears a male voice greet Brittany from behind the counter before Brittany orders two coffees and two double chocolate chip muffins.

"So who's your friend?" The male asks. Brittany nudges Santana, and Santana looks up to the face of Michael and Julia Chang's son. "Wow," he says, staring openly at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You look…really familiar."

"This is Santana," Brittany says. "She's…my dad…well, you know." She waves her hand at the vague statement.

Realization seems to dawn on him, and he looks sympathetically, not at Santana, but at Brittany. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Santana." He sticks his hand out over the counter. "I'm Mike."

Cautiously, Santana takes Mike's hand and allows him to shake it. Not knowing what to say, though, she remains silent. Brittany points to a table and hands Santana the muffin and coffee that she'd bought for her. Santana sits, and waits for Brittany to finish her conversation with Mike.

Mike seems really sweet, Santana thinks. It hadn't seemed to matter to him that she's a slave, and she's thrown back to a few days ago when she'd watched him lead Tina off of the auction block like she was a regular person, a friend even. But she can't get past the look that he'd given Brittany, that seemed to say _I'm sorry you're stuck with her_.

A man passes behind her and bumps her head, and though she knows it was probably an accident, she shrinks into herself. Santana looks around, feeling self-conscious. She feels as though everyone's eyes are on her, though she's not sure why; these people don't know she's a slave. There are a few here, but unlike them, Santana isn't wearing a collar and leash. There's nothing that screams _slave_ , yet she feels like everyone knows, like everyone is waiting to take advantage of her.

Santana hears Brittany sit down across from her as Sue Sylvester enters and yells her order at Mike through her megaphone. Brittany pushes Santana's untouched coffee and muffin closer to her, encouraging her slightly.

They eat in silence.

\--------

The rest of the day is extremely awkward between them. Santana doesn't know what Brittany and Mike had talked about, but it seems to have shifted Brittany's somber mood for the worst. Brittany doesn't even speak to Shannon when they arrive home, and she barely eats any dinner.

After Santana bathes, she returns to Brittany's room. Brittany is sitting in her desk chair, typing on her laptop. Santana sits on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her fingers, and after a minute Brittany spins to face her.

"Look," she says around a loud exhale. "You don't want to be here, I don't want you to be here, so Monday I'll get dad to take you up to the auction block, and you can go home with someone who will want you."

Santana panics as Brittany turns back to her computer. Brittany doesn't want her? She's going to send her away? For what?

"Please don’t." Brittany spins to face her again, and Santana pulls her lips into her mouth. She's not sure what had come over her, only that she didn't _want_ to go anywhere else. She knows she could be punished for that outburst, but she thinks it might be worth it if she can stay with Brittany.

"What?" When Santana doesn't respond, Brittany rolls her chair a little closer. "You…don't want to leave?"

Santana shakes her head, and Brittany motions for her to speak. "I…I know you don't want me here." Santana pulls her knees to her chest as tears threaten to fall from her eyes. "But…my last master…he would beat me into submission. Then he would have his way with me, and then beat me again. For the fun of it. I wasn't allowed to eat for days, or bathe for weeks." Santana manages to tear her eyes away from the carpet long enough to judge whether or not she'll be allowed to continue. When she sees Brittany staring at her curiously, she speaks again. "On the rare occasion that I was allowed out of the house, I had to be tied to a stake. My first master…in the three months that he owned me, I had a total of two meals. I was chained to a pipe in the basement with nothing to lie on but a bath towel, and he came down to beat me and take care of his…urges."

"Santana-"

"When I'm here," Santana continues over Brittany before she loses her nerve or her tears make it impossible to speak. "When I'm with you…even though we don't talk…I feel human. I feel…equal. You feed me and let me bathe and sleep in your bed. You buy me coffee, and you threw that leash and collar away." Brittany looks down at her feet and tugs on the poms of the beanie that she's wearing. "I…I don't feel like a slave. At all. So please…please don't send me away."

When Santana doesn't get a response, she looks up, tears finally slipping down her cheeks. Brittany meets her eyes and nods her head. "Okay," she says, and Santana feels her heart start beating again. "You can stay."


	4. Chapter 4

She can't stop thinking about it.

She can't stop thinking about Brittany, so sweet, so curious, so pretty…so willing to send Santana away. It had taken a simplified version of the past three miserable years of her life to get Brittany to allow her to stay. And why? Brittany said that she didn't want her…is it because she's annoying? Does she talk too much, or not enough? Does she eat too much, or smell too bad?

Santana feels a weight settle across her hips and she stiffens; Brittany, lying on her stomach, has thrown an arm around Santana's waist. Santana stares at the dark ceiling and huffs out her held breath. She doesn't know why she cares. If Brittany sent her away, she'd probably just go back to the slave farm for a couple of months, and it's not _that_ much different than being at Brittany's; she'd be fed at least once a day, she could bathe every few days, she'd only be beaten if she misbehaved or made eye contact…the only thing missing would be Brittany.

Santana doesn't think that she wants to give that up.

The arm around her waist tightens and Brittany hums. Santana smiles and ghosts her fingertips over Brittany's forearm, so soft and warm.

Brittany's somewhat of an enigma; Santana wants to figure her out.

\---------

All day Sunday, Santana can tell that Brittany is dying to get her father alone, but Pierce just isn't taking the hint.

When Monday morning rolls around, Santana opens her eyes to find Pierce staring at her again, that same look of disproval plastered to his face before he leans over and kisses Brittany's temple.

This morning, however, Brittany is awake, and when the door closes behind Pierce, she clambers over Santana and races after her father.

Santana knows that she shouldn't intrude, knows that eavesdropping could get her into serious trouble, but she's always been a bit nosey, and she just can't help herself. She hurries out of the bed and down the hall.

Santana creeps down the stairs, keeping close to the wall, careful to leave the pictures hanging there in tact. Pierce and Brittany are in the kitchen, and Santana has missed the better part of the conversation, but she presses closer to the wall and waits.

"Dad," Brittany draws out in a whine, sounding desperate and frustrated. "You're not listening."

"Britt," Pierce answers sternly. Santana can hear the _clunk_ of a coffee cup hitting the tabletop. "It's nonsense. I raised you better than this."

"But I didn't _want_ her!" Brittany exclaims, sadness lacing her voice. Santana frowns, feels like she's been punch in the stomach, kicked in the ribs; she'd known that, but the words falling from Brittany's mouth still sting.

"That's fine, Brittany. It's hard to find the perfect slave. We'll take her back and you can pick out one you like. Maybe you'd like a male better." Santana's chin trembles and she bites her lip as a newspaper page is turned.

Brittany sighs; Santana thinks of going back up to her room, but changes her mind. "You don't get it, dad." It's Pierce's turn to sigh, like he's tired of the argument, like he's heard it before, like he knows what's coming. Santana wishes she did, because none of this makes any sense to her.

"B-"

"It's all of them," Brittany continues over her father. "I don't want a slave!" Santana's mouth falls open as Brittany spits the last word like its poison on her tongue. Who didn't want a slave? Even slaves were guilty of fantasizing about owning someone, having someone tend to their every need.

"Britt-"

"And you knew that, but you bought her behind my back anyways. I've told you before that I don't believe in this. The slave trade is stupid; why do people have to own other people?" Santana has to steady herself against the wall. She's never heard of those words falling from a master's lips before. She's never heard of those who are privileged enough to be a master actually _complain_ about being a master. There's never been a master, to her knowledge, that didn't appreciate every ounce of power that they were given.

But somehow it all made sense. Brittany treats her decently, she doesn't allow Santana to call her 'mistress'…and it's all because Brittany doesn't see her any differently than she sees her father, Mike, or anyone else. To Brittany, they're all equal.

_"You're not my slave."_

These few days Santana had wondered what she was doing wrong and it was the one thing that she hadn't even considered. Yes, Pierce made her uncomfortable with his aggressiveness. Yes, Brittany made her uncomfortable with what Santana had considered aloof mixed messages. But not once had Santana considered that she was making Brittany uncomfortable with a title that she had automatically pasted onto Brittany.

Santana's been assuming that Brittany wanted a slave; maybe what she had wanted was a friend.

"I don't want to hear that." Pierce's voice drawing closer draws Santana out of her reverie too late for her to escape up the stairs. He gestures angrily at her and looks back at Brittany. "See? She heard you; now it'll be impossible for you to get her to take orders!"

Brittany stares wide-eyed at Santana pressed against the wall, and Santana's sure her ashen face matches Santana's own. Pierce leaves without a goodbye, slamming the door to show his disgruntlement with the situation. Shannon appears behind Brittany and wraps a hand around the back of Brittany's neck. Santana's eyes flick to her; she looks oddly relieved.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Shannon says. Brittany tenses under her hand. "It wasn't my place. I thought Britt would tell you herself."

Brittany averts her gaze to the floor. Santana takes a step forward. There's a newfound confidence blossoming in her, but she needs to know that it's true. "You don't agree with slavery? At all?"

Brittany lifts her eyes to meet Santana's. "It's stupid," she repeats. She pushes past Santana and stomps to her room. Shannon motions for Santana to follow Brittany. Santana does so without hesitation.

Santana hurries back to Brittany's room. Brittany is staring at her laptop's screensaver when Santana enters. Brittany flinches when the _click_ of the door closing pierces the silence.

Santana stares at Brittany's back for a moment before moving to the side, into her line of sight. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Brittany's eyes flit to her; she looks nervous, and she hopes that Brittany doesn't think that Santana would hurt her. She could never hurt Brittany. Brittany shrugs and fiddles with a unicorn-shaped eraser.

"I wish you would have said something." Santana's fingers twist around each other, and Brittany watches her curiously. "These past few days…I thought you hated me. Or that I was doing something wrong."

Brittany shakes her head. "I don't hate you." She stands from her desk chair and stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. "You're really nice."

Santana smiles a bit. "I see now that what I mistook for hatred was really me making you uncomfortable."

Brittany shrugs and scuffs her toe on the carpet. "What was I supposed to say?"

"How about _you don't have to be afraid of me, I don't think like he does_?" The words come out harsher than she'd intended them to, and Brittany frowns at her. Santana takes a deep breath to calm herself; Brittany is obviously sensitive to anger, though Santana's sure she should be immune to it since Pierce is her father.

"I'm sorry," Brittany says.

Santana shakes her head. "No. No, you don't have anything to be sorry for." Hesitantly, she reaches out and takes Brittany's hand. Brittany lets her hold it awkwardly for a few seconds before smiling and squeezing Santana's hand. "You tried to tell me." Brittany nods. " _I'm_ sorry. For not catching on."

Brittany plays with Santana's fingers. "I never wanted a slave," she repeats, as if clarifying it. She shudders at the thought.

Santana takes a deep breath, wanting to make a proposal, but scared that it will be rejected. "Well," she says. "How about a friend?"

Brittany's face splits into a grin slowly, like she's not sure she's heard correctly, and Santana's heart thuds; she has yet to see Brittany with such a large smile, and knowing that she put it there almost makes her cry tears of joy. Brittany squeezes her hand tightly and pulls her closer. The hug is tight, but brief; the last time she'd been hugged in such a way had also been the last morning she'd seen her mother – Sam had given her a strange version of a one-armed hug in the cargo truck, but she doesn't count it because it had been rushed and weird for her.

Brittany pulls back, her face suddenly serious, and Santana's heart drops. "One condition," she says. "Can we snuggle?"

Santana raises her eyebrows and her mouth works silently before she's finally able to stutter out, "I…I g-guess?" She's never…snuggled with anyone before; she's not even sure she would know how. It would probably end up being awkward.

Brittany claps happily. She seems just as excited to have a friend as Santana is, and Santana wonders if Brittany's ever had a friend before. If not, then she and Santana are in the same boat – Santana had tried making friends with the boy next door when she was seven; they'd talked over the fence separating their backyards for a while, but his mother had put a stop to it quickly once she found out that Santana's mother was a slave.

It had been just one of many disappointments in her life, and remembering it sobers her. Her smile falters; she reminds herself to not get too used to being here, with Brittany, feeling so light. It can still be easily taken away tomorrow.

In fact, Santana thinks, it probably will be.

Brittany grabs her hand again. "Do you want to go to the park?"

Santana smiles at the randomness of the request and nods. Brittany hurries to the closet. She hands Santana a pair of jeans that she says are a couple of years old – they're too small for Brittany, but still too large for Santana – and a tank top. Once they're dressed and Brittany has chosen an appropriate beanie, Brittany tugs Santana down the stairs by her hand. She calls a goodbye to Shannon as she rushes out the door, finally ushering Santana into the passenger seat of her car.

They're mostly quiet during the drive, but unlike before it's not awkward. The wall between them is crumbling piece by piece. Brittany hums to the radio and Santana stares out the window. Most people that they pass on the sidewalk have slaves on leashes, and Santana almost feels guilty. At a stop sign, a man catches her eye, and before she can look away he's waving to her like they're old friends. She nods once before looking back at Brittany.

Brittany smiles, having felt her stare. "What?"

Santana shrugs and absentmindedly rubs her neck, relishing the absence of a collar. "That guy waved at me."

Brittany frowns, obviously not seeing what's made Santana so uncomfortable. "Do you know him?"

Santana shakes her head and resumes staring out the window. "I guess it's just weird how differently…" She trails off, lost in thought, and Brittany must understand what she means because she falls silent and lets the subject die.

It's baffling – and a bit depressing – how a small change – the absence of a collar, her presence in the front seat – can change someone's view of her. If she had been in the backseat that man probably would have scowled at her; he might've even yelled a threat at her for staring.

Santana shakes her head as they pull into the parking lot of the Lima Bean. When they enter, Mike stops wiping the counter to smile broadly at them. He greets Brittany and holds out his hand, silently offering a fist bump to Santana, which she accepts awkwardly.

"So, Britt," he says conversationally as he fills their order. "A bunch of us are going to Rachel's tonight." His tone reeks of _conspiracy_ , and Santana can't help but lean closer. "You guys comin'?"

Santana catches Brittany glance at her. "Um," she says, and Mike looks hopeful. "Maybe next time."

Mike hesitates, his eyes shifting between them rapidly. "I…are you sure?"

Brittany turns to her, asks her to go wait in the car. Mike grins at her, and she nods. As she turns, she glimpses Tina in the back, donning an apron and grinning at a customer. The sight makes her hesitate long enough to hear Brittany tell Mike, "I don't think now's the right time; she's not ready."

Santana frowns, but continues to the car.

\---------

They end up eating the breakfast that Brittany had bought by the duck pond. Brittany bought an extra bagel to feed the ducks, and as she throws the bits of bread, giggling all the while, Santana crosses her legs and contemplates Brittany's words to Mike.

What is it, exactly, that she's not ready for? Santana doesn't think that there could be a bigger blow than finding a master who despised slavery. After that, Santana doesn't think there's anything Brittany could pull on her that would rattle her…could she?

"Would you like to hang out with my friends sometime?" Brittany suddenly seems nervous. A duck waddles closer and she makes a show of feeding it to avoid looking at Santana. "It's usually just Mike, Rachel, Puck, Artie, Finn, and…others."

Santana doesn't know who all of those people are, but she can take a guess at who the _others_ are; slaves.

Santana smiles; it's nice that Brittany thought to invite her. She can't wait to figure out what's going on with Mike and Brittany. And, she thinks, it might be nice to see Tina; they've never met, but Santana had seen her traded between Wheels and Mike, and she's a bit curious about what kind of master Mike is overall.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Sounds fun."

Brittany smiles and rips off half of the bagel. She hands it to Santana, and together they finish feeding the ducks.

\---------

When Brittany asked if they could snuggle, she hadn't been kidding. She directs Santana into a 'little spoon' position – Brittany's words, not Santana's – and curls around her back.

Santana almost hates to admit that it feels good. It feels safe, not at all awkward like she'd initially thought it would be.

She almost wants to expect Brittany to violate her.

"You do this often?" She asks, because Brittany is _really_ good at snuggling.

Brittany hums into her neck, and Santana's not sure if that's a 'yes' or not. "I snuggled with Mike and Puck a lot after my mom died." Her voice turns somber, and Santana kind of regrets asking. "Especially Mike; he's my best friend."

The flare of jealousy she feels is completely uncalled for, she knows, so she tamps it down. "That was sweet of them," she says around a yawn. Lying like this, wrapped in Brittany's embrace, makes her sleepy, makes her feel like it's okay to sleep.

Brittany hums again and snuggles closer. "'Night, San."

Santana's breath catches at the nickname and she presses her grin into the pillow. "Goodnight, Britt."


	5. Chapter 5

Santana rubs blearily at her eyes as she trudges down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last one in her half-asleep state. "Where's Brittany?" She asks around a yawn when Shannon comes into view.

Shannon folds down a corner of the newspaper in her hands to get a better view of Santana. "Good morning to you, too," she chuckles. "Britt went to the store." She gestures to the counter where a plate of bacon resides. "Help yourself."

Santana frowns. Brittany hadn't been beside her when she'd woken up, obviously, but she'd assumed Brittany would be in the kitchen. She pours a cup of coffee and sips at it absently, sad that Brittany hadn't at least woken her to let her know that she was leaving.

Santana shakes her head at herself and gnaws on a piece of bacon; Brittany doesn't owe her anything, least of all a play-by-play of what she's doing.

"Something on your mind?" Shannon doesn't even glance up from her paper.

Santana shakes her head and smiles tightly. "Just not a morning person," she says, and the fact that that's not a lie makes her feel better about not being completely truthful with Shannon.

The front door opens and Santana's eyes snap to it instantly, narrowly missing Shannon's knowing smirk.

"Good morning," Brittany greets her, swinging her lone shopping bag as she approaches. Santana watches her greet Shannon over the rim of her coffee cup, barely having time to lower it before Brittany is sweeping her into a hug, surprising her. She lets go, 'ooooo'ing as she steals Santana cup and takes a sip. "Mmm, how'd you know?"

Santana's mouth opens and closes several times, and Shannon chuckles again at her speechlessness. Recovering slightly, Santana smiles as Brittany hands the cup back and snags a piece of bacon, stuffing the whole strip in her mouth. "Lucky guess," she says.

"You're in an awfully good mood, Britt," Shannon comments. She folds the newspaper up and offers it wordlessly to Santana. Santana shakes her head, tries not to let her face give away her reasons, and Shannon drops it to the table instead.

Brittany ignores Shannon's statement and instead pulls Santana to the stairs by her hand. "We'll be in our room!" Santana nearly trips over her bare feet at _our_ , her heart fluttering in a way that she doesn't quite understand.

They thump down the hall and Brittany locks her door once they're over the threshold. She dangles the shopping bag by her index finger in front of Santana's face and grins broadly. She's obviously proud of herself. Santana stares at the bag stupidly and Brittany swings it side-to-side and says, "It's for you."

Santana licks her lips and her fingers close over the handles of the bag delicately. Brittany watches eagerly, and Santana reaches her hand in. Expecting a new collar and leash or a whip or even a mousetrap, Santana quivers as her eyes rake over what her hand is wrapped around.

"Brittany…" She stares at the round red hairbrush and the purple toothbrush, tears springing to her eyes. It's not even that much, and she feels like the biggest baby ever when a tear slips down to her chin, but damn if this isn't the nicest thing anyone's done for her in such a long time. "I…" She swallows past the lump in her throat, thinks back to Kurt offering her his shirt with a dazzling smile, how she'd been grateful, but certainly not this emotional.

Brittany's smile falls, her eyes widen. "You don't like it."

Santana sniffs, wipes her face with the back of her hand, and says, "No, no, I…I love it. Them. It's just…been so long since-" She breaks off. Brittany touches her elbow, and Santana runs her tongue along her teeth and grimaces, remembering the toothbrushes at the slave farm and the government issue toothpaste that she was sure was doing more harm to her teeth than good. Santana lays the hairbrush on Brittany's desk and holds up the other item. "Can I…?"

Brittany giggles and sweeps her hand toward the door. "Toothpaste's in the medicine cabinet."

Making her way down the hall, Santana tears into the toothbrush pack enthusiastically. She hasn't had a proper tooth brushing in a while, and she's sure that she's pretty unpleasant to be around right now.

Santana brushes her teeth three times, flosses twice, and swishes a full cap of mouthwash before she's satisfied. She smiles as she slips her toothbrush in the holder beside Brittany's blue one. When she returns to Brittany's room – _their_ room – Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, twirling the hairbrush she'd bought in her hands. She smiles when she sees Santana and pats the space in front of her.

Santana sits, facing away from Brittany, and Brittany begins pulling the brush gently through her tangled hair. Santana closes her eyes against the sensation of Brittany's fingers on her scalp, trying to lessen the pain that Santana's not even registering. She remembers her mother brushing her hair, telling her playfully to quit whining.

"You have really pretty hair."

Santana forces her eyes open, forces away the fluttering she feels again, and scoffs. "Right."

Brittany pulls her fingers through Santana's hair once, twice, and says, rather distractedly, "No, really. Like really shiny licorice."

Santana draws her eyebrows together and releases a disbelieving laugh; Brittany really is something else. "Can I ask you something?" She asks, wanting to change the subject. Brittany hums, still slightly distracted by Santana's hair. "What's Shannon's story? I mean, your dad is terrible to her, but she's almost like your mom or something."

Brittany's fingers still for a moment, making Santana regret her poor choice of words. When they resume, Brittany speaks. "She was here before I was born." Brittany drops the hairbrush and begins to braid Santana's hair absently. "Before, she was mainly, like, a maid or something. When I was born, she was my…nanny, I guess. Mom and dad even paid her, gave her vacation…she was part of the family, allowed to call them by their first names. Mom and dad loved her, she loved them. Then mom died." Santana listens intently as Brittany's words get quieter, darker. "I don’t know. It was like something in dad snapped." She snaps her fingers and Santana jumps. "Now he doesn't treat Shannon like a member of the family; he just treats her like a slave."

Brittany's hands fall to her lap and Santana turns to face her. She lays a hand on Brittany's knee, silently apologizing for dredging up bad memories. "So he hasn't always…beat her like that?"

Brittany shakes her head and looks away. "That just started recently." She grabs Santana's hand in both of hers and holds tightly. "I'm not…I don't think he's used her for…" _Sex_ , Santana's mind fills in when Brittany trails off.

"So she's still a maid, basically?" Santana wants to ask if Shannon is still a nanny; she's not sure of Brittany's age. Brittany nods. "Does she still get paid?" Brittany shakes her head and Santana huffs out a sad sigh.

"Dad's still grieving; so am I," Brittany mutters. Santana squeezes her hand. "But violence is dumb."

Santana smiles, the innocence of Brittany's words shooting straight to her heart. She hates to get too close, too attached to Brittany, but she can't help but feel a pull towards the girl. She stares at their clasped hands for a long moment, watching Brittany's slender thumb rub a tight circle on her skin. She marvels at the contrast, how Brittany's is so much lighter than hers, but it still looks like it belongs in Santana's.

Brittany breathes in deeply and releases Santana's hand quickly. "So, what about you?" She asks.

Santana's eyes drop, her heart's pace quickening. "What about me?" She asks, feigning ignorance, buying time. She doesn't want to reveal too much, doesn't want Brittany to look at her differently. She doesn't want Brittany's pity.

Brittany shrugs and picks at a loose thread on her bedspread. "I don't know." Santana can tell that she has questions; she's afraid to ask, though, afraid she'll cross a line or say the wrong thing. Santana's not sure what exactly it is that Brittany wants to know so badly. Santana's already given her a pretty accurate summary of her past masters, and Brittany can't ask how Santana became a slave. Years ago, it was legal to capture people and make them slaves; somewhere along the line, though, the government realized that that was a bad method. If anyone could be caught and made a slave, then who would be left to be a master? Santana doesn't know much of the history, she just knows that these days you have to be born into slavery to be a slave, either through breeding, illegal fraternization, or by accidental pregnancy between a master and a slave – the way that Santana had been conceived.

There's no logical reason for Brittany to ask Santana what her life had been like. For all Brittany knows, Santana was raised on slave farms, like other slaves, not by a master who acted as a father for years before betraying her in the cruelest way.

Santana shakes her head as her stomach growls, effectively saving her from the conversation. Brittany giggles, obviously also glad for the interruption, and says, "You're always hungry!" She takes Santana's hand and pulls her to her feet. "Just like me."

Despite the foul memories that had been conjured up, Santana grins as Brittany pulls her down the stairs. As painful as it is to admit it, she can't help but love the feel of Brittany's hand in hers. She doesn't have much to compare it to, but their palms fit perfectly, their fingers meld seamlessly.

It's going to make it hurt worse when she wakes up from this dream.

Brittany drops her hands when they enter the kitchen. She pulls two spoons and two bowls from the cupboards and hands them to Santana. She opens another cupboard on the opposite end and pulls out four different cereal boxes as Santana grabs the milk from the refrigerator and sets everything on the table.

Brittany sits across from Santana. She immediately snatches up two of the boxes and pours a bit of each of their contents into her bowl, creating a mess of colorful circles and differently shaped marshmallows. Santana eyes a white box. Brittany pours milk on her own concoction and, seeing Santana hesitate, reaches forward and pushes the white box closer.

Santana licks her lips. "What is it?" She asks without thinking. She bites her lip and looks away in embarrassment.

Brittany takes in a mouthful of cereal and mumbles, "Read the box," like it's the most obvious solution, and Santana supposes it would be – if she could read. Santana's eyes burn. She frowns and stares blankly at the letters, trying to remember anything that she may have picked up in her eighteen years about words and letters. Or at least a commercial she may have seen for this cereal – her mom had only kept healthy cereals around, cereals with tons of fiber like Wheaties.

Being the child of a slave, Santana had missed out on the opportunity to attend school. Instead, Maribel had tried to teach Santana to read, write, and do math, but her master had made her stop. In hindsight, Santana thinks, that should have been the first sign that something wasn't quite right.

Maribel had succeed in teaching Santana numbers before they were caught, but she only remembered some letters, the simpler ones like 'O' and 'C' and 'L'. Instead, Santana had learned easier things like shapes and colors, things that could be taught a bit more discretely.

"Santana?"

Santana blinks and looks at Brittany. The other girl looks worried and Santana licks her lips again, this time tasting salt.

She's crying.

Great.

"Santana?" Brittany asks again. She folds her hand over Santana's on the table.

"I-" Santana swallows hard. "I can't…"

Brittany watches her squint at the box helplessly. "Do you need glasses?" Santana shakes her head, trying desperately to hold in a sob. _God_ , this is humiliating. "Are you-" Santana watches as it clicks, like a light shining brighter behind Brittany's eyes, and she takes a shuddering breath, preparing herself for the taunting. "You can't read?"

Santana looks away in shame, but shakes her head. She's never asked how any of the other slaves could read and write, having not been allowed to go to school, and it's embarrassing always being the one who is illiterate; it's something that she's always wanted for herself, something she knows everyone else takes for granted.

Brittany stares at her for a moment longer before picking up the white cereal box. "That's okay," she chirps. "Sometimes I don't read good…well, either." She holds the box up for Santana's shocked eyes to take it in, like she knows that Santana will associate the name with the pictures and the colors. "Cinnamon Toast Crunch." Santana bites her lip and nods. Brittany pours a bit into her empty bowl. She sets the box aside and twitches her mouth to the right, mulling over the other boxes, which would go best mixed with the cereal already in Santana's bowl; Santana thinks this may be a habit of Brittany's, mixing her food together.

Finally, Brittany lifts a yellow box into view. "Golden Grahams." Santana rakes her eyes over the box, committing it to memory. She nods and Brittany pours some on the small mountain of cereal already in the bowl. She pushes the milk to Santana and takes a large spoonful of her own food into her mouth. When Santana finishes pouring her milk, Brittany grabs the other two boxes. She holds one up, says, "Fruit Loops," then sets it down. She lifts the last one and says, "Lucky Charms."

Santana smiles; it's watery, but grateful. She pushes her cereal around her bowl, feeling guilty that she'd assumed that Brittany would tease her about her disadvantages; Brittany's been nothing if not accommodating. When Santana looks back up, Brittany is holding her bowl to her mouth, gulping down her leftover milk. When Brittany drops the bowl and meets her eyes, Santana smiles again, almost shyly, and says, "Thank you."

Brittany blushes and pours herself another bowl of cereal.

\---------

"Does he make you nervous?"

Pierce had come home from work nearly three hours early. He sits at the head of the table reading the sports section of the newspaper, grumbling about bets and owing someone named Hiram fifty bucks, while Shannon finishes dinner and Santana and Brittany sit quietly. Santana had caught his eye twice accidentally; the first time he'd told Brittany to make her 'mutt' stop eyeing him, and the second time he'd drawn his hand back as if to backhand her. Ever since, she's refused to look up from the table.

She glances briefly at Brittany when her breath hits Santana's ear with the whispered question. She's not sure why Brittany's asking; the answer should be fairly obvious. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She swallows thickly and nods tightly twice instead.

Brittany takes her hand under the table. "Do you want to eat somewhere else?" Santana turns her head slightly to smile gratefully at Brittany. Brittany pulls her to her feet and yanks her towards the counter where Shannon is laying out the plates for dinner. "We're going to eat in our room tonight," she says quietly, and her eyes beg Shannon to not ask her why.

Wordlessly, Shannon fills their plates with food. Brittany hands them to Santana and leads her upstairs; if Pierce notices their hasty exit, he doesn't say anything about it.

Brittany grabs an extra chair from what Santana assumes is a guest room, and closes her bedroom door. She clears a space on her desk for them to eat at least semi-comfortably. Santana hands her a plate when she's finished.

After a few minutes of silence, Santana says, "Your dad scares me." When Brittany doesn't respond, Santana cringes to herself and looks up, afraid that she'd offended Brittany.

Brittany's looking at her food, biting her lip, but she doesn't look mad; she looks sad. "I know," she says finally. "He scares a lot of people."

Santana hears the unspoken _including me_ that Brittany's not saying, and she lays a hesitant hand on Brittany's knee. "Has he always?"

Brittany stares at her hand, and Santana contemplates moving it. "No." She covers Santana's hand with her own and squeezes tightly, and it looks to Santana like she's trying to draw strength. "He used to be nice. To everyone. I miss him. Who he was before. Now he's just a bully; bullies are mean."

"I'm sorry." Santana doesn't know what else to say. When Brittany lost her mom, she'd also lost her dad. Santana knows exactly what that's like, but she doesn't want to say so, doesn't want to make this conversation about her.

"I hope you'll tell me more about yourself someday," Brittany murmurs, and Santana's heart hurts in the best way. It's an unspoken promise, one that says Santana's staying, and she wants so badly to believe it. She knows that, if it were completely up to Brittany, she definitely would stay.

But Santana's not completely sure how much say Pierce has in the matter.

"I'm not that interesting," Santana deflects.

Brittany giggles and lets go of her hand. "I think I should be the judge of that." She reaches over and flicks the radio on. It hums to life in the middle of a soft song and Brittany gasps. "I love this song!" She takes Santana's hand and Santana barely has time to drop her fork before she's being pulled to the middle of the floor.

"What are we doing?" She laughs.

"Dance with me."

Santana freezes and Brittany grins at her. Brittany wraps her arms loosely around Santana's waist. Surprised, Santana's hands fly to Brittany's arms, just above her elbows, and hold tightly. Brittany's a very forward person, more than Santana had originally thought. When she wants something…she goes for it.

Santana kind of likes it.

"I…I don't know how."

Brittany giggles again. "Doesn't look that way to me."

Santana glances down and is startled to see herself swaying with Brittany; she hadn't even realized she was moving. In her panic, she steps on one of Brittany's feet and mutters, "Sorry."

Brittany pulls her closer. "You're a natural."

Santana scoffs, still embarrassed by her clumsiness. "I just stepped on your foot."

"Huh. I didn't even notice," Brittany says playfully, winking at her.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Right."

"Just relax," Brittany says quietly. "Unless…you want to stop?"

Santana smiles shyly and shakes her head. She likes being close to Brittany like this. The warmth of her body is oddly comforting to Santana, who, for the past three years, has despised being touched so much that whenever contact is made she has to actively stop herself from flinching. It scares her, how easy Brittany seems to make everything.

The song winds down and Brittany takes Santana's hand to twirl her once, their joined hands held over their heads, before returning Santana to her original position. Santana laughs, feeling lightheaded with giddiness. "So you like to dance," she observes conversationally.

Brittany shrugs. "I was a Cheerio in school, and yeah, I danced some."

Santana furrows her eyebrows in confusion. "Cheerio? Isn't that a cereal?"

Brittany grins. "It's what everyone called the cheerleaders."

Santana raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. Brittany steps away from her and moves her feet independently for a moment, and Santana knows that her earlier comment about only dancing some was just Brittany being modest. "So, dancing is just a small hobby, huh?" She teases.

Brittany sticks her tongue out and moves impossibly closer. Santana swallows hard and flits her eyes to Brittany's lips. She shouldn't want to kiss Brittany because _goddammit_ it's all so messed up. She shouldn't _want_ to do anything with Brittany because even though Brittany hates it, in the eyes of the law, Santana is a slave and Brittany is her master. Nothing can change that.

But Brittany licks her lips and her eyes find Santana's lips and she leans forward and before Santana knows what she's doing she's leaning forward too. Her heart pounds furiously, and Santana's afraid that it will fly out of her chest and slap Brittany in the face and completely ruin the moment.

Fuck, she _really_ wants to kiss Brittany.

 _Oh, shit_ , she realizes that this will be her first kiss. Ever. None of her previous masters ever kissed her on the mouth, thankfully. Santana's hands shake as they clasp Brittany's sleeves tightly and she closes her eyes.

Suddenly, the door opens and they fly apart. Pierce looks confused for a moment, but he lets it go; if he assumes he was about to walk in on his daughter having sex, well…that _is_ why he bought Santana; he has no right to be shocked.

Santana crosses her arms and looks to the floor. The moment's gone; she let her guard down and she knows that it can't happen again.

No matter how much she still wants to kiss Brittany.

Brittany grabs her elbow gently; Santana had tuned out her and Pierce, and now Pierce was gone, as was their dinner. "Are you okay?"

Santana forces a blank look to her face to hide the devastation she feels. She shouldn't have let Brittany so close to her; she has to get rid of this stupid fantasy she has and remember that she's probably only here temporarily. She pulls her elbow from Brittany's fingers. "I'm fine."

Brittany swallows. "I'm sorry."

Santana pulls her lips into her mouth, unsure of what Brittany's apologizing for.


	6. Chapter 6

"So I told Mike that he'd _never_ get the girl to leave him alone if he didn't stop showing off his abs."

Santana scrunches up her nose and grins. "Mike? He seems so humble though."

Brittany scoffs, but is unable to hold in a smile. Santana's scrunch face is way too cute. "Oh, Mike is plenty humble about things that aren't his abs."

Santana shifts on the bed, managing to tangle her legs further in the twisted sheets. She props her head up on her elbow. "And what's so special about those?"

Brittany presses her face into her pillow for a moment, attempting to hide her growing smile. The twinge of jealousy in Santana's voice is easily detectable, and while Brittany's never been one to play those games, this is something that she feels she must explore. Finally, she raises her head and shrugs, attempting nonchalance. "Well, for starters, they're like a washboard."

Santana visibly bites the inside of her cheek, and Brittany giggles at the rather sour look on her face. She knows that Santana wants her, has known it for a while, and it's not like she can deny wanting Santana just as much. She'd tried to kiss Santana, for Pete's sake. And she'd have succeeded had her dad not walked in.

But, in hindsight, she's glad that he had interrupted the moment. Once she'd stepped back, taken a breath, and looked at Santana, she'd known that it would have been a mistake. It was too soon, their friendship too new, too fragile. The slave issue was still hanging over them, and Brittany knew that it would take a while for Santana to believe that Brittany saw her as an equal. She knows that it makes Santana nervous, knows that Santana still thinks that she can be sent away.

Brittany hopes that, in time, that fear can be quashed. Until then, she knows it's best to wait, to let Santana make the first move, if there is a move to be made.

Brittany taps Santana's arm gently. "So I was thinking," she says in an attempt to divert the conversation from Mike. "Maybe I could teach you how to read and write." Santana's eyes widen and Brittany, thinking that maybe she'd overstepped, sputters, "I mean…i-if that's okay with you."

Santana bites her lip and Brittany feels relieved when she sees the hint of a smile. She reaches forward and touches one of the letters on Brittany's sweatpants. "What does this say?"

Brittany looks down, then back up, confused. "It doesn't say anything."

Santana frowns. "Britt…"

Realizing that Santana seems to think that Brittany is playing her for a fool, Brittany is quick to amend herself. "They're just letters. They don’t spell anything. W-M-H-S stands for William McKinley High School."

Santana traces the letters absently with her index finger. "Is that where you go to school?"

"I did, but I graduated." Brittany watches Santana trace each letter, as if trying to commit them to memory. She realizes that she doesn't really know anything about Santana, her age, or what grade she'd be in. She wonders what will happen if Santana happens to be a lot younger or a lot older than her; she doesn't look like she would be, but looks could be deceiving. "How old are you?"

Santana's eyes snap back to Brittany's face. She pulls her hand away, curls it into a loose fist, and rests it between their bodies. "I'm eighteen." Brittany nods, and she knows that her relief is evident. "I feel like this is the part where you tell me that you're actually forty," Santana jokes with narrowed eyes.

Brittany grins. "Fifty, actually, but you were close enough." Santana laughs, and it makes Brittany's grin morph into a smile. "I turned nineteen a few days before you got here."

Santana takes a breath, recalling Pierce's comments about her being a late birthday present. "Well," she breathes out. She spreads her arms out, as if presenting herself. "Happy late birthday!"

Brittany smiles softly. "Thank you." She leans in and Santana holds her breath as Brittany's lips brush her cheek. It's a soft gesture, and Brittany's lips are cool and smooth, but Santana feels like fireworks are exploding from her cheek. She swallows thickly and tries to smile, but her emotions are conflicting so much that she can't even manage to lift a corner of her mouth.

Brittany's ears turn a healthy shade of red. She can feel them burning as they always do when she's embarrassed. She'd expected a different reaction from Santana, a _better_ reaction. Maybe a smile, or shy, downcast eyes, not this wide-eyed, terrified look.

Brittany opens her mouth to apologize - not for the innocent gesture, but for the turmoil that it's clearly caused - but the door opens and Shannon peeks her head in to say that breakfast is getting cold. Brittany looks at the clock; they'd both woken up wide awake earlier than usual, but she hadn't realized how long they'd been lying in bed talking.

Santana rises quickly and follows Shannon, obviously desperate to escape the tension in the room. Brittany is slower to follow, thinking of all the barriers that she and Santana have to overcome.

\---------

It hasn't taken Santana long to figure out that Brittany's days are all pretty similar; breakfast, TV, lunch, TV, dinner, bed. TV is interchangeable with a trip to the backyard.

It's a never ending cycle, and frankly Santana doesn't know how Brittany isn't bored out of her mind.

But, then again, Brittany is entertained by the simplest things.

Brittany had managed to take Santana to the mall. Amid Santana's protests, Brittany had bought her an entire wardrobe of clothing and a new pair of tennis shoes. Brittany said that her father had so much money that he wouldn't miss a cent of what they were spending; Santana wasn't so sure, but she knew she had to trust Brittany. They'd also picked up a few children's learning books; while Santana knew she should be embarrassed, she also knew that learning had to start somewhere.

So just like that, Brittany's dresser and closet had been meticulously rearranged to accommodate Santana's new clothes, they'd filled out almost an entire alphabet workbook, and Santana could now recite the alphabet without batting an eye.

There was just one thing bothering her.

"When are we going to hang out with your friends?" Santana asks randomly while they're watching cartoons. Since their last visit to The Lima Bean, Mike's called twice and Rachel - whoever she is - has called four times to ask when they're coming.

Brittany's mouth twitches to the side as she thinks for a moment. She turns to Santana and vaguely says, "Maybe this weekend."

Santana tries not to stare at Brittany's lips, the same lips that have hovered dangerously close to her own twice now, as she asks, "Why haven't we gone yet?" And tries to hold in the _why are you avoiding it?_ on the tip of her tongue.

Brittany shrugs and twists Lord Tubbington's hair between her fingers. Santana wants to think that she's embarrassed about technically being the owner of a slave when she doesn't believe in the practice, but it doesn't make sense; Mike owns Tina, and it seemed as though he treats Tina the same as Brittany treats her. Plus, she'd bet anything that the rest of Brittany's friends own slaves, too.

Santana shifts on the couch. "I heard you and Mike talking at The Lima Bean," she says cautiously. She scratches behind Tubbs' ears and pretends not to notice when Brittany's eyes snap to her entirely too quickly.

"How much did you hear?" Brittany's tone is hard to decipher; she doesn't sound angry, but she also doesn't sound too happy. She sounds…anxious. Worried.

Santana sighs; she'd been afraid that Brittany would be angry that she'd overheard an obviously private conversation. "I heard you tell him that it's not the right time…that 'she's' not ready."

Brittany exhales and bites her lip. Santana wishes that she was better at reading people, like Brittany. "Oh," Brittany says.

"Yeah," Santana says slowly, narrowing her eyes a bit. She wants to tread carefully; she doesn't want to anger Brittany, but at the same time she's insanely curious. She takes in Brittany's hesitant face and says, "What, do they perform satanic rituals? Like, if we go will I end up being a sacrifice to the gods?"

Finally Brittany cracks a smile and giggles. "No, we only sacrifice goats." She finds Santana's hand and laces their fingers loosely. Santana tries to keep her hand from shaking. "I just wanted time to get to know you. Alone. We'll go soon."

Santana thinks there may be more but she doesn't push it. Maybe Brittany's just bad at sharing the people in her life that she's close to.

Instead, she squeezes Brittany hand tightly and suggests going to the park.

\---------

"All I'm saying," Santana says rather grumpily, holding her dish towel in front of Brittany's face. "Is that this thing just pushes water around. It's not absorbing anything!"

Brittany giggles and reaches a sud covered hand up to scratch her nose. She crosses her eyes to stare at the suds left behind, and Santana rolls her eyes affectionately as she wipes them away for Brittany. The gesture earns her a dazzling smile, and she clears her throat and resumes drying dishes to avoid doing something embarrassing.

Brittany's dad had stayed at work a little later than normal, so Brittany had shooed Shannon out of the kitchen immediately after dinner, stating that she would clean the dishes. Naturally, Santana had grabbed a towel to lend a hand. Shannon deserved a break.

"What do you suggest we use instead?" Brittany quizzes.

Santana twists the towel in her hands. "Paper towels, a hair dryer, I don't know, anything would be better than this."

"Oh, okay!" Brittany chirps. "I'll just go grab a handful of leaves from the yard then!"

"Shut up, you know what I meant," Santana laughs, swatting Brittany's thigh with the twisted towel.

"Did you just hit my daughter?"

Brittany whips around to face her father, but Santana can't move, paralyzed with fear; they'd only been joking around, but Pierce doesn't know that, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't care. She feels Brittany's slender fingers dig into her elbow, trying to pull her closer, but Santana's legs won't move. How could she allow this to happen? She hadn't heard the door open, hadn't been paying enough attention. She'd been preoccupied with Brittany. Always with Brittany.

"Dad," Brittany starts, still trying to pull Santana behind her.

Santana can hear Pierce's heavy footsteps approaching slowly, her breath comes in shallow, terrified pants; would he hit her? And if he did, how hard? Would he knock her off her feet, or just knock her head to the side? In the time that she's been with Brittany, her previous wounds have all completely healed, and she's not ready to have more.

"Did you hit my daughter?" Pierce repeats slowly, his voice rising with every word. He's right behind her now, the only barrier between them is Brittany's body. "Did you?" He barks.

Santana jumps and gasps at the outburst, spurring Brittany to speak again. "We were just messing around," she huffs. "Santana's my friend, and that's what friends do." Santana feels fingers circle her wrist, fingers too delicate to belong to anyone but Brittany, and Santana barely refrains from crumpling to the floor.

She can't believe Brittany's standing up to Pierce for her. All her life no one but her mother was ever on her side, and since they were separated Santana's had to completely fend for herself. Having Brittany do this for her now makes her want to smile dumbly despite the situation.

As Brittany pulls her past Pierce, Santana flinches, and is surprised when the only thing he throws at her is a withering glare.

"She's not here to be a friend, Britt," Pierce calls as they tromp up the stairs. "She's a _sex slave_!"

His words mean nothing to her. His opinion isn't one that matters to Santana. The only opinion Santana craves is Brittany's, and Brittany's opinion is painfully clear as she slams and locks her door and pulls Santana into a fierce hug. She whispers apologies into Santana's hair over and over again, and Santana realizes that Brittany had been just as afraid as she had been.

"You didn't do anything," Santana soothes. She wraps her arms around Brittany's shoulders tightly, her knees threaten to buckle at the feelings coursing through her. Brittany must mistake it for fear of Pierce because she firmly says, "He won't hurt you. I won't let him."

For the first time since she was separated from her mother, Santana knows she's found someone to believe in.

\---------

The next morning, Santana wakes to Brittany cuddling closer to her, her head on Santana's chest and her arm thrown over her hips possessively.

Santana pulls Brittany closer. She thinks about how close they've gotten, how quickly they've become friends. Somehow, Brittany had grown on her, and Santana knows she's not the easiest person to get close to.

If they were to be ripped apart now, it would absolutely crush Santana. Not that she'd ever admit it out loud.

"What'chu thinkin' 'bout?" Brittany mumbles sleepily into her neck.

Santana smiles. "Just wondering why your dad bought me if he was going to be an ass all the time." It's not really a lie; she'd been wondering for a while, she just hadn't had it in her to ask. "I mean, I know I'm a slave, but damn."

She can feel Brittany's frown against her skin, and Santana opens her mouth to apologize for upsetting her, but Brittany interrupts. "Dad said I wasn't myself after mom died. He said I was repressed."

Santana frowns. " _De_ pressed?"

Brittany nods and props herself up on her elbow, making Santana miss the closeness. "Yeah, that. Anyways, he thought having a sex slave to tend to my 'needs' would cheer me up. He called it 'special attention'." Santana remains silent, sensing Brittany has more to say. "I kept telling him that I didn't want a slave, that I'd be fine in time. I had Puck and Mike and all of my other friends. I mean, they helped me graduate high school; I thought if they could do that, then they could eventually help me get through my chief."

"Grief," Santana corrects gently with a smile. It was endearing, the way that Brittany constantly mixed her words up.

Brittany smiles. "I wish you'd gone to school with me; you'd be the smartest one there."

Santana blushes and looks away for a moment. "I don't know about that," she mumbles into the air. She turns back to Brittany. "So why couldn't your friends help you? I mean, you seem pretty close to Mike and Puck. And that Rachel chick keeps calling. It's obvious they care; so why couldn't they help?"

Brittany's mouth twitches into a sad smile for a second. She traces patterns on the sheets with her index finger. "Yeah," she says absently. "You'd think. But…I guess something was missing. I just hadn't realized it yet."

"What was it?" Santana asks around a whisper. She holds her breath for Brittany's answer, knowing she needs to hear it, knowing it's important. Brittany looks Santana in the eye and gives her a watery smile.

"You." Santana's struck dumb by the single syllable, and almost misses the firm kiss that Brittany lays on her cheek before settling back on her chest.

Her heart pounds at the sincerity in Brittany's voice, and if Brittany can hear it from her position she doesn't let it show. Santana bites her lip as a wave of guilt washes over her; Brittany's been nothing if not brutally honest with her since they became friends, and she's been entirely secretive. She knows Brittany's curious about her past, but she's patient, she's willing to wait as long as Santana needs her to.

Santana doesn't need her to wait any longer. She takes a deep breath before she starts, "My mother's master got her pregnant." Brittany props herself up again to listen. "But he didn't want to be the father of a slave child, so he sold my mom. He said that she'd been fraternizing with his other slaves." Santana scoffs to herself. "The next man that bought her…he practically raised me. Even let me call him 'papi'. But I guess we should have known something was wrong when he wouldn't let mami teach me how to read or write. He was very set on me not getting an education. Instead, mami taught me easier things, shapes, colors, how to remember things since I couldn't read." She smiles as she remembers Brittany's improvised cereal lesson and the few others they've had, Brittany helping Santana learn all of the foods in her kitchen.

"Why?" Brittany asks. "Literacy is very common among slaves."

"I'm not sure," Santana says honestly. "I used to play in his office a lot, while mami was busy; maybe he didn't want the risk that I'd read his documents." Brittany nods. Santana pauses for a second before continuing; this part of the story was more painful for her. She'd never spoken about it before now. Brittany rubs her stomach in silent support. "Um…when I was fifteen, he told us that we were going to the community pool. It was extremely hot that day, so we got excited, obviously. We, uh…we got in the car and he drove and drove and drove…past the pool, past the city limit signs…and straight to the auction block."

"Oh, Santana," Brittany whispers, her shining eyes wide.

Santana clenches and unclenches her teeth, willing herself to continue; as close as she and Brittany have gotten, there's still a wall between them in the form of Santana's past, the reason for her trust issues, and Santana is determined to tear it down.

"He sold us. Separately," she whispers. "I never saw my mom again." She closes her eyes against the memory of being ripped away from her mother, her mother's anguished cries, and the crowd's laughter at this sick form of entertainment.

"Santana…"

"I don't even know if she's alive," Santana sobs, covering her face with her hands as her body begins to shake. She feels Brittany slide up and pull her head to her chest. She burrows herself deep in Brittany's embrace and remains there long after her sobs turn to whimpers and then silence other than Brittany's soft humming.

She feels lighter than she's felt in years.

But more importantly, Santana thinks, she feels _safe_

\---------

When Pierce is home, Brittany does her best to keep him away from Santana - usually by at least two rooms - even if they have to leave the house while he's home. It makes Santana a bit sad, really, seeing how hard Pierce tries with Brittany, but also how that effort is just pushing Brittany further away from him. Brittany's afraid of him, of his temper, and can barely stand to eat dinner with him, and Santana doesn't blame her; if he'd so willingly hit Shannon, someone who had been part of his family longer than Brittany, who's to say he wouldn't hit Brittany too? He can be so pleasant one minute, chatting lightly with Brittany or even Shannon, then the next moment he's screaming at Santana or slapping Shannon, and it upsets Brittany.

Which is why she's grateful for the times Brittany takes her to the park or the lake or The Lima bean; sure she's afraid of Pierce, but what she really can't stand is that grimace on Brittany's face or the tension coiled in her body. A body like Brittany's is built for grace and looseness, not the strain and rigidity that her father's presence instills in her - 

\- and god, she really shouldn't be thinking of Brittany's body, and it's hard not to when Brittany stretches beside her and her shirt rides up to expose her stomach. If Santana would just reach out, she could run her fingers over the subtle lines of muscle, could feel the smoothness…no. She won't do it. Not yet, at least.

She's only just come to terms with her nearly uncontrollable desire to kiss Brittany. But wanting to touch her…that's an entirely new level that she's now got to try to force herself to accept without feeling dirty.

They're friends.

Just friends.

But as Santana looks at Brittany's sleeping face, she can't help but want so much more.

\---------

When Brittany pounces on her the next weekend, Santana groans and squeezes her eyes closed tightly; it's still very much dark outside, and Brittany is entirely too happy for this early in the morning.

Or this late at night.

Santana's not sure which is correct, nor does she care. "Why is this happening?" She mumbles through the blonde hair covering her face.

Brittany giggles and presses her body against the length of Santana's. Santana's eyes pop open. "Because dad just left for Minnesota and today we're going to hang out with my friends!"

Santana swallows all of her conflicting emotions - irritation at being woken up, elation at Pierce being completely out of the state, nervousness at the prospect of hanging out with Brittany's friends, and anxiousness at having Brittany lying on top of her - and playfully says, "So? It couldn't wait until morning?"

She expects Brittany to pout, so the smile she feels when Brittany presses a quick kiss to her cheek is surprising. Brittany lifts herself off of Santana, and Santana puffs out a relieved breath. "It _is_ morning, silly!"

Santana rolls over and snuggles deeper into the sheets. "I meant when the sun comes up."

The bed dips behind her and Brittany begins to bounce excitedly; Santana thinks it's odd that just a few weeks ago Brittany hadn't wanted her to meet her friends, and now she's excited about it. "I'm just so excited," she says, as if Santana couldn't tell.

Santana smiles into her pillow and jokingly says, "If you don't stop bouncing my stomach's going to show you just how _excited_ it is."

"Gross," Brittany says, but Santana can still hear the smile in her voice.

Santana gropes behind herself for Brittany's hand. When she finds it, she pulls Brittany back to the bed and says, "Sleep," leaving absolutely no room for an argument. Brittany winds her arms around Santana as best she can while still on top of the blankets. 

Santana knows as she drifts back to sleep that Brittany won't be sleeping anymore tonight.

\---------

A few hours later, after the sun has risen, Brittany and Santana stand outside of Rachel's house in front of a side door that Brittany says will lead them to the basement. Santana's a little anxious to be in a basement again, but Brittany assured her that if she gets overwhelmed, they can leave immediately.

Brittany taps her knuckles against the door in an interesting pattern, and Santana wants to ask if there was a reason for it or if it was just something that Brittany felt like doing, but the door opens a tiny crack and a brunette head pops out, looking surprised.

Santana recognizes the girl immediately; it's Berry, the girl who had battled Sue Sylvester at the auction block for Quinn.

Brittany throws an arm around Santana's shoulders and grins. "Surprise!"

"Brittany!" Rachel squeals in an overly cheerful voice.

Santana finds her instantly annoying.

"I thought I'd bring Santana over for a while," Brittany says as Rachel reaches for her free hand and squeezes affectionately. "I wanted her to meet everyone."

Rachel looks left and right, her eyes narrowed. "Were you followed?" She asks suspiciously, lowly, like she's a spy in a cheesy action movie.

Brittany sighs quietly. "You ask me that every time, and every time I tell you that I don't come unless dad's out of town."

Rachel pulls them through the door. Once it's closed, she slides several locks into place, then turns to beam at them. "And every time I tell _you_ that you can never be too cautious." She reaches for both of Santana's hands and holds them tightly. Santana sinks into Brittany and tries, as politely as possible, to pull her hands back. "So this is Santana! Mike said you were absolutely gorgeous, but I believe he may have understated a bit." Santana narrows her eyes, feeling absolutely irritated. "I wish you would have called ahead of time, Brittany! I would have loved to have the chance to tidy up a bit for our newcomer."

Gently, Brittany pries Rachel's hands from Santana. Once free, Santana steps slightly behind Brittany to ensure that it doesn't happen again; Rachel seems nice enough, but she's still a master. And an annoying one, to boot. "It's a basement, Rachel," Brittany says flatly. "How clean can it really be? Anyway, it was short notice for us too; dad just left this morning."

Rachel's basement breaks the mold of anything that Santana ever considered to be a basement. The basements she's been in have all been bare, cold, dark, with pipes that leaked and water heaters that clanked in the night. Rachel's basement is those basements' complete opposite. It's cool, but not freezing, and it's very well lit. The walls look like they've been freshly painted. It's split into two rooms, the foyer where they're standing and another, larger room that Santana can see into from another, slightly ajar door behind Rachel. She can see the end of what appears to be a couch, the corner of a rug, shadows from people moving around, and she can hear other people talking.

Suddenly, she's nervous again.

This was a bad idea, letting herself be led into a basement full of masters.

Santana takes Brittany's shirt into her fist at Brittany's hip and grips it tightly. Rachel's prattling on about refreshments and board games, and Brittany swings her arms back, encircling Santana and pulling Santana's front flush against her back. Santana leans her forehead between Brittany's shoulder blades and tries to will her nervousness away.

Rachel, still jabbering away, leads them through the next door, and almost immediately someone throws themselves on top of Santana, crushing her. Santana freezes, panic seizing her momentarily, until she realizes that she definitely knows those arms, even if only one had previously been around her shoulders.

"Sam?" Her voice trembles slightly, muffled by Sam's shoulder. Sam pulls away slightly and smiles goofily at her.

"Santana!" He enthuses. He looks her over, obviously remembering how banged up she'd been the last time he'd seen her. "You're okay!" His grin grows, relief evident. "When we heard that you went home with Brian Pierce…we were all worried sick!"

Santana smiles. "Who is 'we'?"

Sam steps aside, giving her a clear view of the room and it's eight other occupants. She recognizes most of them.

Noah Puckerman, the one that had always been pleasant, if a little flirty, - he must be Puck, Santana thinks, wondering how she'd never made the connection - and Kurt, the boy who'd given Santana his shirt, sit in one chair, Kurt in the chair and Puck perched on the arm.

Across the room, Quinn stands by a larger African American girl; she's the spitting image of Mrs. Jones, so Santana thinks it's safe to assume that she's Sam's master.

Mike, who waves enthusiastically at Santana, and Tina sit on the floor in front of the couch where a boy is stretched out, taking up the entire couch. He grins, and it's even goofier than Sam's. Another boy in a wheelchair is beside them with his hands folded in his lap.

"Rachel, Mercedes, Mike, Puck, Finn, Artie, and I all went to school together," Brittany explains.

"And," Rachel interjects, drawing the word out. "We were all in Glee Club together!"

Brittany's cheeks redden a bit at this, but she doesn't offer any further words on the matter.

"Santana!" Sam begins to rave again. His arm makes a sweeping gesture around the room. "They don't believe in slavery! None of them!"

From the corner, the girl beside Quinn laughs loudly and moves to stand beside Sam. "Calm down, boo," she tells him. Sam blushes. "I'm Mercedes. And we tried to tell them that, as long as Britt was around, she wouldn't let her daddy hurt you."

Santana looks around with wide eyes, the information overload finally catching up; they had been worried about her? They had cared about her?

And they didn't believe in slavery? Santana had assumed that Brittany was the only master in…well, the entire world, really, who had that mindset.

Quinn follows suit with Mercedes, stepping over and simply offering a silent hug, which Santana quickly accepts. She'd been worried about Quinn; Berry hadn't looked dangerous - she certainly looked less dangerous than Sue Sylvester - but Santana hadn't had any idea who Berry had waiting at home for Quinn. Quinn, like the rest of them, looks remarkably healthy.

Puck steps up next and leers at her playfully. "Well, hey hot stuff," he says. Santana tries to fight the smile threatening to split her face, tries to plaster on the same scowl that she'd always given him, but she feels a fondness for him, and it pulls at the corners of her mouth until she's leering back at him good naturedly. "Long time no see. How's about me and you-"

"Step off, Puckerman," Brittany warns lightly. Santana's heart swells at the possessiveness lacing her tone.

Kurt steps around Puck and pushes him back. "Yes, Noah, step off." He glares at Puck, then places his hands on Santana's shoulders to look down at her simple jeans and t-shirt. "I'm truly glad you managed to find your own clothes," he jokes before pulling her into a hug.

"I never thanked you," she says to him, her voice slightly muffled by his sheer scarf. "I'm very grateful for what you did."

He winks when he pulls away from her. "Don't mention it, honey."

Santana is quickly introduced to everyone else, Finn and Artie and Tina, and is relieved to find that they're all nice people. She feels guilty for thinking the worst before she'd even met them.

She feels guilty for thinking that Brittany would keep company with the sort of people that Santana had feared she'd meet. She makes a mental note to apologize to Brittany later.

It puts a strange ease to her mind, all of these worries that she hadn't really known were there lifting away, making her feel light and happy. All from knowing that these people, the one's that she hadn't even realized that she cared about, were healthy, safe, and alive.

After their introductions, Brittany kisses Santana's cheek and leaves her to sit in a circle on the floor with Sam, Quinn, Kurt, and Tina. The five of them spend some time recanting pasts and comparing the masters they have now. They had all been shocked to learn that there were people who didn't believe in slavery.

Santana learns that Kurt is mostly illiterate, also, and he says that Puck, bless his heart, tries his best to teach him, but it hasn't really worked out. Most recently, he's turned to Rachel for help, but they're not far enough into anything for Kurt to decide whether he regrets his decision or not. Quinn, Sam, and Tina promise to help the two of them as much as they're able.

Over an hour into their reunion, Santana glances to the other side of the room, trying to spot Brittany. She finds her huddled closely with the other masters around a book-strewn coffee table. While Santana knows that she and the others had been getting progressively louder, the masters seem to be talking in only hushed whispers.

Quinn notices her staring. "We don't know what they're up to," she says lowly.

Santana turns back to face her friends, and Tina leans in conspiratorially. "They have huge stacks of law books, but they won't say what they're for."

"Whatever they're planning, it's huge!" Sam chimes in, too loudly for comfort due to his excitement, and Quinn shushes him. They're quiet for a moment, but the masters are too engrossed in their conversation to notice Sam's outburst.

Santana bites her lip. "None of you knows what’s going on?" She asks. They all shake their heads, and briefly she wonders if she'd be able to pry any information out of Brittany later. "Do you think it has anything to do with us?" The other's shrug helplessly.

She wonders if this is what Brittany had meant when she'd told Mike that Santana wasn't ready.

But ready for what? If the others didn't know, Santana can't see why it would have been a problem.

Quinn, Tina, and Kurt begin excitedly guessing what could be going on. Santana turns to Sam and tugs on his sleeve just as he opens his mouth to throw in his two cents. He turns to her curiously. "I have a question," she says quietly; she's not sure why, but she knows that if there's one person that she can trust with this, it's Sam. Sam leans closer, silently encouraging her. She folds her hands in her lap and fiddles with her fingers. "Do you think…I mean, is it possible…is it okay to have feelings for your master? Like…romantic feelings?" Her face burns as she stammers through her question, and she's almost too busy staring at Brittany to notice Sam staring at Mercedes.

"I think it's entirely possible," Sam says seriously after a fleeting pause. He turns back to her and gently places a warm hand over hers to still her nervous fingers. "Possible, but not totally safe," he adds sadly.

Santana smiles. She's not worried about safe; she's got all the safety in the world with Brittany.

\---------

Later, once they've returned home, Santana tries to discreetly ask Brittany what she and her friends had been up to, but Brittany deflects her questions like a true pro, so Santana settles for asking about her friends, how they'd met, about the Glee Club, and how they'd all helped Brittany - and Puck - graduate.

"Finn and Artie don't own slaves," Brittany says in response to Santana asking why there'd been an uneven master-slave ratio. "Finn couldn't afford one even if he wanted one, and Artie…well, he's not even sure if Little Artie works that way." She giggles behind her hand.

"That's mean," Santana chastises lightly even as she giggles along.

Brittany shrugs. "Those are his words, not mine." She scratches the back of her head. "I know you want to know why I didn't take you earlier." Santana nods. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the idea of people not believing in slavery; you seemed pretty shocked when you found out that one person believed that way. I wasn't sure how you'd react to a whole group of us."

Santana smiles. "That makes sense," she admits, though she'd still rather know what the masters had been up to.

Brittany turns on the radio and pulls Santana into a slow dance. "So, did you have fun?"

Santana squeezes Brittany's shoulders. "I did," she says. "But I have to say that I was really nervous at first, being in a basement again, especially packed with masters."

Brittany nods and says, "But it's more like a little house than a basement."

"Exactly," Santana says, glad that Brittany's not offended by her initial hesitance. "But I had a lot of fun. It was nice to see that everyone I was on the auction block with are safe, especially Sam."

Brittany crinkles her nose. "I like Sam. He's really dorky, but in a cute way."

Santana's smile falls as the words leave Brittany's mouth. Brittany thinks Sam's cute?

"Well yeah, but…like an excited puppy," Brittany says, and Santana realizes with horror that she'd accidentally spoken her words instead of just thinking them. "Is that not okay?" She asks curiously.

Santana shakes her head, feeling completely foolish for getting jealous. "No, I mean, yes that's okay," she stutters out. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, frustrated at herself, at her emotions. "It's just that he doesn't seem like someone you'd hang out with," she says lamely, but immediately regrets it, because what does that even _mean_?

Brittany studies her silently, still swaying to the music. Santana blushes under the scrutiny and looks away. Suddenly, Brittany giggles.

Santana huffs out a short laugh and asks, "What?"

Brittany grins mischievously. "You're jealous," she teases.

Santana swallows thickly, but doesn't attempt to deny it; Brittany can see right through her, always could, and it'd be so easy to pick out the thinly veiled lie. There's no use causing herself more humiliation. "So?" She mumbles.

Brittany grins widely. "It's so cute."

Santana narrows her eyes, deciding to play along. "Cuter than Sam?"

Brittany's face morphs abruptly, becoming serious. "So much," she says, the raw honesty in her voice makes Santana's stomach flutter almost painfully.

Santana swallows again, watches as Brittany's eyes slide to her lips, her ears glow bright red, and with a surge of bravery, Santana rises on her toes and presses a hard kiss to Brittany's mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

Brittany's movements cease, her body stiffens, and she exhales hard through her nose. Santana's hands, fisted tightly in the front of Brittany's shirt, begin to tremble.

Brittany's not responding. She's not kissing back, and while some part of Santana's brain – the rational part – had told her that Brittany wouldn't, she couldn't help but hope.

Foolishly, of course.

Santana tears her mouth from Brittany's. She tries to unwind her hands from Brittany's shirt, but the only thing that her brain will allow her to do is stutter out, "I-I'm s-so sorry." Brittany's eyes remain wide as Santana pulls out of her arms and covers her mouth with her hand to suppress her sob. Her free hand presses firmly into her stomach, a nervous habit that she's not even aware of.

She'd misread the signals; Brittany likes to hug her and cuddle with her and dance with her and kiss her on the cheek and she'd said that Santana was cuter than Sam for fuck's sake.

But of course Brittany's affectionate and she's cuddled with Mike and Puck too and…and _fuck_ she just ruined _everything_.

Brittany advances on her slowly, and this time, Santana's sob manages to bleed from between her fingers; it's enough to temporarily halt Brittany's movements. "I'm sorry," she sobs out, shaking her head, because she knows that _this_ is Brittany's last straw. Brittany's treated her better than she could ever hope for, but _now_ she's going to hit her, not because she's a slave, but because she crossed a basic line of friendship; even she knows that. She can only hope that apologizing profusely will make Brittany go a little easier on her. "Oh, god, I am so sorry, Brittany."

Brittany stands in front of her, eyes still wide, her mouth moving wordlessly. Santana feels her tears dripping onto the back of her hand, and she wishes Brittany would just hit her and get it over with.

Finally, _finally_ , Brittany raises her hand. Santana tries not to flinch, but it's been _so_ long and she'd thought it was over and that she was safe and-

Brittany's hand wraps around Santana's wrist gently and pulls it from her face. She grabs for the other and wills Santana to lay them both on her shoulders, where they'd been before. Her hands cup Santana's cheeks, gently wiping her tears away with her thumbs, and another sob rips from Santana.

She doesn’t deserve this kindness; she'd taken advantage of Brittany, and she knows that, even on a friend level, she deserves to be beaten.

She exhales heavily, a harsh ragged breath that makes the front of Brittany's shirt flutter slightly. Brittany tilts her head up with a finger under her chin, forcing their eyes to meet. She opens her mouth, but she can't seem to find the words that she's looking for, so she settles, momentarily, for resting her forehead lightly against Santana's and nuzzling her nose into Santana's damp cheek; she seems perfectly content to ignore the tears now on her nose as she chuckles quietly.

Confused, Santana tries to pull away, but Brittany's arms circle her waist. "Brittany, what-"

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to do that."

Brittany's lips crash into Santana's ferociously, pulling a surprised gasp from Santana. After a moment of confused panic, Santana slides her hands up Brittany's neck and into her hair, tangling in the soft strands and tugging Brittany impossibly closer. Brittany wraps her right arm fully around Santana's waist, pulling their bodies closer, and slides her left hand up to cup Santana's face again.

Brittany's tongue prods at her lips, completely unyielding, and Santana lets her in immediately, feeling only a little embarrassed at her obvious eagerness. She's inexperienced, and she's afraid that it'll show, so she tries to let Brittany do the work, exploring and sucking and drawing sounds from Santana that Santana really didn’t know that she could make.

When Brittany pulls back, Santana digs her nails into the nape of Brittany's neck, silently begging her to stay close. "Whoa," Brittany breathes.

"Yeah," Santana agrees stupidly. She can't stop the grin from splitting her face. She hesitates before adding, "You scared me."

Brittany nods in understanding and runs her hands over Santana's sides. "I'm sorry, I was…"

"Shocked." Brittany nods. "Me too."

Brittany throws her head back and laughs.

Santana giggles, but her face falls almost instantly as she remembers the terror that she'd felt. Brittany senses her mood shift and her laughter also stops. "I…" Santana bites her lip. "I thought you were going to hit me." Brittany's ears glow red. "I'm sorry."

Brittany frowns and shakes her head. "No. No, no, no, why are you sorry? I should be sorry for making you think that."

Santana smoothes her hands across Brittany's shoulders, fixing her shirt and refusing to meet her eyes. "No, I should have known better than to think that you would hurt me. I-"

Brittany lays a light, quick kiss on Santana's lips, effectively stopping Santana's rant. "Stop," she whispers when she pulls away. "You shouldn't apologize. You've had terrible things happen to you in your life, and I need to be more mindful when I react to things. I guess…this is a learning experience…for both of us."

Santana chews her lip for a moment before smiling coyly. "Well, that _was_ rude…"

"Then I guess I should make it up to you."

\---------

Brittany giggles quietly behind her hand; she's been talking with Mike over Skype since Santana fell asleep, and he's currently busy telling her about his and Tina's adventures at the fair that's in town. Mike had been plenty of times since it's an annual fair, but Tina had never had the privilege; according to Mike, Tina was mesmerized and wanted to do everything.

"I'm telling you, Britt," Mike says as quietly as possible. "You better be prepared."

Brittany looks to the bed where Santana seems to be sleeping soundly. She plans to take Santana to the fair before her father returns from Minnesota the day after tomorrow, and she just knows that they'll probably end up with more prizes than they can conceivably carry.

"Thanks for the warning," Brittany whispers teasingly; honestly, she doesn't need a warning. She's well aware that Santana's curiosity will probably get the best of her.

Suddenly, Tina's face appears beside Mike's, blinking sleepily and looking exhausted. "Hi," she mumbles to Brittany as she rubs her eyes.

Brittany grins apologetically. "Hi. Did we wake you?" Tina shakes her head; Brittany knows that she's lying. She glances to the bed when she hears Santana emit a tiny noise.

"Hey, Britt," Mike starts, and Tina tugs impatiently on his hand; fleetingly, Brittany wonders how involved Mike and Tina have become. "How about you guys come to Rachel's after you leave the fair tomorrow night?"

"We'll think about it." Brittany rolls her eyes for effect, but she knows that they probably would have ended up at Rachel's anyway. 

Mike and Brittany bid each other goodnight, and Brittany turns worried eyes to Santana, who has begun to toss and turn restlessly. Brittany frowns, closes her laptop, and picks her way through the dark. When she reaches the bed, she sits beside Santana and shakes her shoulder gently.

"Santana," she says. Santana mumbles and shrugs Brittany's hand off of her shoulder. Not to be deterred, Brittany shakes Santana harder, intent to wake her from the nightmare that she's obviously having. "Santana, wake up. You're having-"

Santana's eyes suddenly fly open. She gasps loudly, startling Brittany, and scrambles backward, staring at Brittany through the dark like she doesn't know who she is. Realizing that it's still dark in the room, Brittany reaches over and turns on the lamp. Santana, arms already wrapping tightly around her knees, blinks, wide eyed. "B-Brittany?"

Brittany swallows nervously and nods. "It's okay," she says, her voice firm even though she's still a bit shaken by Santana's quick movements. "You were having a nightmare…"

There's a heavy pause as Santana looks around wildly, her eyes searching, though Brittany's not sure for what. Eventually, Santana stutters, "I-I have night terrors…" Santana trails off, and Brittany hesitantly lays a hand on her knee.

"You were afraid of me." Santana opens her mouth to protest, but Brittany's doesn't give her the chance. "You were afraid of who you thought I was."

Santana closes her mouth, unable and unwilling to argue. "I'm sorry," she says instead.

Brittany says nothing. She slides up and presses a quick kiss to Santana's mouth before pulling Santana into her arms. Soon, Santana relaxes and drifts off; Brittany is quick to follow.

This time, she leaves the light on.

\---------

Santana shifts the large stuffed duck that she's carrying from one hip to the other; the weight of it is more than she'd anticipated when she'd picked it out.

Santana stands on her tip toes to search for Brittany; somehow they'd gotten separated, and, though she'd had a very mild panic attack over the situation, Santana had seen this as an opportunity to possibly win something for Brittany.

Brittany's shorts didn't have pockets, so Santana was in charge of holding the money Brittany brought to the fair for rides, games, and food; Santana thinks that she'd had about twenty-four dollars, and she'd spent all but seven at the stupid ring toss game.

She remembers thinking that it looked like a piece of cake; obviously, she'd been wrong.

In the end, she was torn between a duck and a unicorn, but the duck had been bigger, and Santana hopes that every time Brittany looks at it she'll be reminded of their many trips to the duck pond.

Finally, Santana spots Brittany through the throngs of people, and she's not alone. Beside her, Rachel Berry is pulling a very unhappy and reluctant looking Quinn along.

"Santana!" Rachel exclaims with a splendid grin. She moves too quickly for Santana to dodge her, and Santana finds herself in a very unexpected and unwelcomed hug; Santana nearly drops the duck in the dirt. "It's so lovely to see you!"

Santana smiles uneasily at Rachel and nods a greeting to Quinn. When Brittany stands by her side and puts a hand on her back, Santana holds out the duck, her cheeks burning now that she has to do this with an audience. "I, um…this is for you."

Brittany squeals, attracting the attention of a few passersby, and hugs the large duck to her chest. "He's so cute I love him oh my god what am I going to _name_ him?!" Brittany rambles. Santana grins as she looks back to Rachel and Quinn.

Rachel's looking pointedly at Quinn, and Quinn rolls her eyes, though Santana can tell that she's not as irritated as she wants them to believe. "Thanks a lot," she breathes sarcastically in Santana's direction as Rachel drags her away, spouting off something about a stuffed gold star. Santana offers an equally sarcastic grin and waggles her fingers at Quinn.

"Waddlesworth!" Brittany suddenly exclaims. She looks up to Santana, her eyes sparkling. "Sir Waddlesworth!"

Santana laughs. "Lord Tubbington and Sir Waddlesworth; jeez, Britt, you're practically building an empire."

"Don't forget Princess Santana," Brittany says distractedly as she combs her fingers through the yellow fuzz on the duck.

Santana feels her cheeks heat up, and she clears her throat audibly before reaching into her pocket and extracting the seven dollars she has left. She holds them up for Brittany to take. "I spent all of your money…" she trails off, suddenly ashamed and expecting Brittany to be angry.

Brittany places her hand over Santana's and pushes it back down. "Keep it." A brilliant smile follows.

Stunned, Santana's mouth falls open slightly. "Are…you sure?" She lowers her voice and looks around before adding, "Slaves aren't supposed to have money."

Stepping closer, Brittany looks at her seriously. "Of the hundreds of people here," she whispers before placing her hand on Santana's jaw and pressing a lingering kiss to her mouth. When she pulls back, she ignores Santana's panicked eyes and continues, "The only one who sees you as a slave is you."

Suddenly speechless, all Santana can do is follow a still-smiling Brittany to the car.

\---------

With Sir Waddlesworth safely buckled up in the back seat, Brittany and Santana enter Rachel's basement; Mike, Tina, Puck, Kurt, and Sam greet them loudly. Mercedes had some family business to attend to, so she'd dropped Sam off with the promise to join them all as soon as the matter was taken care of. Finn had to work late. And Artie, Rachel, and Quinn were still all at the fair.

Santana is whisked away by Tina, Kurt, and Sam almost immediately; they all look like they're barely able to contain their excitement, and she knows it's a pretty good guess that they're not _that_ happy to see her.

"What's going on?" She asks, hoping that she doesn't sound as uneasy as she feels.

"Quinn managed to sneak a look at a few of their books while Rachel was in the shower," Tina says quickly.

Kurt's eyes widen and he motions with one hand for Tina to lower her voice, then whispers, "Quinn said there were a lot of things written in the margins, but the handwriting – no doubt Noah's – was too messy to read-"

"But," Sam chimes in excitedly, obviously having trouble keeping still. "Quinn said that there were also a lot of passages highlighted and underlined and stuff."

"Quinn said that she couldn't really understand a lot of the technical lawyer lingo and stuff-"

"But she said that all of the marks were in very… _interesting_ sections of each book."

Holding her breath, Santana looks at each of them expectantly, growing steadily more impatient.

Unable to contain it anymore, Sam rushes out, "The sections on slavery and freedom!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait.
> 
> A couple of people expressed concerns about the lengths that it would take to abolish slavery; it will all work out in the end, lovelies.
> 
> I'm also issuing a fair warning here: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MILD VIOLENCE.

Santana narrows her eyes. She's not sure what to make of what Sam's just told her. Slavery and freedom? What does that even _mean_?

"Did you hear what I said?" Sam asks excitedly. He seems unable to keep his hands still as he waves them around eagerly; Santana wishes he'd put them in his pockets or something before he accidentally hits her. "They're trying to abolish slavery!"

This time, Puck, Mike, and Brittany turn at the outburst, which is just loud enough to garner attention. Santana hopes that it wasn't loud enough to be understood. "Sam, keep your voice down," Kurt chastises through a tight grin. He places the back of his hand on Sam's shoulder and nudges him back. "Go calm down," he whispers.

Santana laughs quietly as Sam paces in front of Tina. After checking that Puck, Mike, and Brittany are no longer paying them any attention, Santana turns to Kurt and asks, "What does 'abolish' mean?"

"Basically ending slavery," Tina says. She sidesteps Sam to stand beside Kurt.

"Like…making it illegal?" Santana's mind reels. The prospect of being free has been unfathomable to her for so long. Before she was sold by her mother's master, she'd thought that she would never have to worry about the dangerous side of slavery. After she was sold, freedom became a pipe dream, but it's been a long time since she's given it any sort of substantial thought; it's all really just a hazy memory now. Santana swallows harshly. "Can they do that?"

Kurt shrugs. "We're not exactly sure what they're up to," he says. "But I think it's safe to say that they're not trying to abolish slavery; that's a little above them. I mean no offense to them, of course, but that takes power. Power that a handful of glee club rejects from a small town in Ohio named after a legume clearly do not have."

"Maybe they're trying to start a revolution," Sam pipes up again excitedly.

"Again, Sam, I think that's a little above them."

"Well," Tina says so quietly that Santana has to step towards her to catch her next words. "Maybe they're just trying to find a way to free us?"

Sam, Kurt, and Santana fall silent, each sharing disbelieving glances. "Is…" Santana trails off and takes a long look at Brittany, head thrown back in laughter, before continuing. "Is that possible?"

Kurt tilts his head to the side, regarding Puck in much the same way Santana did Brittany, and Sam shrugs, obviously clueless.

"If it weren't possible," Tina says matter-of-factly. "Why would there be books about it?"

Sam's mouth falls open and Santana's gaze snaps to Kurt. "She's got a point, Hummel," Santana whispers. "What else could it be?"

Kurt shakes his head, clearly annoyed by the use of his last name, and says, "I don't know." He looks to each of them in turn, then turns to stare openly at the other group in the room. "Noah's a sweet guy, but…" He shakes his head again, then turns back to his friends. "Let's not get our hopes up." He puts on his brightest smile, but Santana can tell it's forced.

Santana's shoulders slump, but she knows Kurt is right. Brittany is sweet and amazing and she doesn't believe in slavery; it's already too good to be true, Santana knows it's foolish of her to hope for anything of this magnitude.

"You're right," she concedes with her own plastered on smile.

Kurt doesn't get the chance to respond. The door opens and the rest of the gang piles into the room, some holding prizes, some eating food. Quinn breaks from the others and joins Sam, Kurt, Tina, and Santana. She holds up a paper plate. "Funnel cake?" She offers. Sam snatches the plate immediately, and Quinn looks like she regrets even entering the house with her food.

"Did you manage to find out anything new?" Kurt asks. He grimaces at Sam wolfing down the last of Quinn's sugary treat.

Quinn gestures for all of them to move farther away. When she seems happy with the distance, Quinn whispers, "Rachel's pretty tight lipped-"

"Hard to believe," Kurt mutters.

Quinn shoots him a glare, but otherwise ignores him. "As I was saying, Rachel's pretty tight lipped about the whole thing. But, when we ran into Finn and Artie, I heard Rachel ask if they'd 'found out anything'. Then, Artie said, 'It says that we can get them at a court house or city hall. But there's a lot of red tape'."

"'Red tape'?" Tina asks. "Quinn shrugs.

"And what is this thing that they can get at a court house or city hall?" Kurt taps his chin as he wonders aloud.

Suddenly struck with an idea, Santana snaps her fingers. "Shannon!"

"Who?" Sam asks.

"Pierce's slave," Santana explains. "I wonder if she would know anything. She's been like a mother to Brittany for years. I'm sure Brittany's told her _something_."

Kurt nods, and Quinn says, "It's worth a shot."

Santana knows it's a long shot. Even if Shannon knows anything, there's no guarantee she'll be willing to share with Santana. But Santana knows that she has to try, or everyone may die of anticipation.

"I'll ask her," Santana says resolutely. "I'll let you guys know what I find out next time."

\-----

"What is 'red tape'?" Santana asks on the way home, because no matter how hard she tries, she can't get the image of a building wrapped in red tape out of her mind.

Santana figures that it's a harmless question; it's better than coming right out and asking what the masters are really up to. That is, until Brittany freezes and her eyes go wide.

"What?" Brittany asks. Santana can tell that it's taking everything in her to keep her hands relaxed on the steering wheel.

"Red tape," Santana repeats. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Brittany counters with her own question. "Where did you hear that?"

"TV," Santana says quickly. "It was on one of those crime shows or…whatever."

Brittany looks unconvinced, but she says, "Red tape is like…" She trails off, trying to remember what Mike had told her. "Obstacles."

"Obstacles," Santana muses quietly. "Like, say…if you were trying to get a law passed?"

Brittany falls silent for a moment. She's obviously panicking a little inside, but Santana thinks that she's probably a little angry; her hands are beginning to grip the steering wheel increasingly tighter. For the seemingly endless minutes that Brittany is silent, Santana finds it harder and harder to breathe.

Finally, Brittany softly says, "Yeah."

Santana presses herself against the passenger door and stares out the window, not liking the tone of Brittany's voice. She hadn't meant to make Brittany mad. The last thing she ever wants is for Brittany to be upset. She was just curious.

Always so curious.

Stupid.

"Do you want to watch some movies tonight?" Brittany asks suddenly, breaking the tension effortlessly. "Maybe pig out on popcorn?"

Santana smiles and chances a look at Brittany. "As opposed to any other night?"

Brittany grins, whatever stormy emotions she was feeling earlier melting away. "Those other nights were accidents. This will be a tried and true, official pig out movie night."

Santana's smile grows. "I'd like that."

\-----

As soon as they step through the door, Brittany rushes to the phone and takes it to a completely different room. Santana furrows her eyebrows as her gut tells her that something is amiss, and she knows better than to trail after Brittany right now.

She knows the phone call is about her. She knows that, right now, Brittany is on the phone with Rachel or Puck or Mike or all of the above and she knows that Brittany is telling them about Santana's questions.

She just hopes that she hasn't gotten anyone else into trouble.

Santana briefly considers seeking Shannon out, her deeply rooted curiosity begging her to find out if Shannon knows anything, but she doesn't want to involve Shannon. Not tonight, after she's probably thrown everyone else under the bus.

Instead, Santana heads upstairs to her and Brittany's bedroom and changes quickly for bed. She sits cross legged on top of the duvet and stares blankly at one of her workbooks, willing her mind to settle down, to focus on the words.

It's clear that Brittany isn't a very good liar, and Santana has to wonder how big of a part Brittany is playing in this. Whatever 'this' is.

Part of Santana is hurt. They've spent weeks building up Santana's trust in Brittany; trust that Santana won't be hurt, won't be violated, won't be sent away. They've spent so much time together, watching television, going to the park, teaching Santana to read and write, and at some point Santana began to feel as though Brittany were part of her, like she needs Brittany to function properly. Santana had hoped that, somewhere in all of that time, Brittany had learned to trust her, too.

And then there's the part of Santana that is terrified. Not of Brittany; she knows that Brittany would never hurt her. But of this huge _whatever_ that Brittany seems to be tangled in. If whatever this is backfires, if Brittany gets caught doing something illegal, then Santana would surely be taken away from her. She'd probably be put under Pierce's ownership, at least for a little while.

She can see him now, rubbing his hands together like the cheesy villains in all of those movies she's watched with Brittany.

And what then? Santana would be right back to where she started, beaten and broken under the one roof that she thought she'd be safe. Every good memory associated with this place would be tainted and-

Santana doesn't even realize that she's having a panic attack until Brittany's hands are dancing over her arms and her voice is pleading with Santana to calm down, to please, please come back to her.

"Oh my god, what happened?" Brittany asks once Santana's mostly caught her breath.

Santana scrambles for an excuse; she doesn't want Brittany to know her fears about what she's up to. "I-I don't know," she lies, rubbing her chest as the burn in her lungs begins to recede.

Brittany's eyebrows furrow as Santana closes her eyes and falls into her chest. Her arms wind automatically around Santana and pull her closer. "It just…happened?" Santana nods slightly, trying to draw strength from Brittany. "Santana-"

"Please," Santana whispers desperately. "Can we just…watch a movie or…sleep or something?" She opens her eyes and spies an upturned bowl by the foot of the bed. Popcorn is littered all over the floor. Santana cringes. "Sorry I made you spill the popcorn."

Brittany presses her lips to Santana's forehead for a few long seconds, and Santana closes her eyes again and releases a happy sigh. She hugs Santana tighter. "Wasn't in a popcorn mood anyway."

\-----

The next morning, Santana wakes to an empty bed and cold sheets. She throws her hair into a messy ponytail – the way that Brittany taught her – and bounds down the stairs. She feels tons better than the night before, and all she wants is to see Brittany's smiling face and get back to normal. She wonders what Brittany will want to do today. Santana wants to suggest going to Mercedes' to see Sam, or maybe to Mike's to hang out with Tina and watch Mike and Brittany play video games.

"Mornin', kid," Shannon greets, knowing that Santana's grown rather fond of the nickname. Other than Shannon and the smell of burnt something-or-other, the kitchen is vacant.

Santana wrinkles her nose. "What is that smell?"

Shannon chuckles and shakes her head. "Miss Pierce thought it would be a good idea to cook her own breakfast this morning. Obviously, she didn't get past the toast."

"Ugh." Santana pulls the neck of her shirt over the bottom half of her face. "I hope you banned her from the kitchen for the rest of her life."

Santana pours herself a mug of coffee and grabs a waffle off of the already-cold pile by the stove. She sits at the table with Shannon and grabs for the newspaper. She glances over the pictures as Shannon chuckles again. "Believe it or not, this used to happen at least three times a week."

Santana eyes the toaster, now resting peacefully on top of the refrigerator, warily. "Jesus," she says quietly.

"Didn't you hear the smoke alarm?"

Santana's eyes snap to Shannon and widen. " _God_."

"I didn't realize you were so religious," Shannon teases. Santana rolls her eyes. "I'm just glad you're here to keep her occupied; that child just doesn't learn, and this kitchen couldn't have lasted much longer."

Santana looks around, then peers out the sliding glass doors. Lord Tubbington straddles the deck railing, all four legs dangling off the sides as he snoozes, enjoying what is left of the semi-warm weather.

"Where is the blonde terror?" Santana asks when she doesn't see Brittany.

Shannon hesitates for a second, then says, "Rachel's."

Santana tries to keep her face passive. "Rachel's? Why?"

"I don't know." Shannon sips her coffee for a moment. "Rachel called pretty early yelling about Brittany coming over right away and…" Shannon stops, but Santana can hear it as plain as if Rachel had said it to her face.

_Don't bring Santana_.

"Rachel didn't want me there," Santana states quietly and looks down at the table.

"I think Brittany was hoping she would be able to get home before you woke up." Santana rolls her eyes; as if that makes it any better. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. You know how Rachel is."

_No_ , Santana thinks. She doesn't know how Rachel is, other than loud, obnoxious, and overbearing. There's only one possible reason that she was left at home, and she knows that it's completely her fault; she shouldn't have opened her fucking mouth.

"Were…" Santana swallows past the lump in her throat quickly. "Were the other's allowed to go?"

Shannon sets her mug down loudly. "Britt didn't say. But it seemed like Rachel just wanted the Glee kids there today. Not sure why."

Santana pushes her own mug away and finally meets Shannon's eyes. "Do you have any idea what they do when they meet?" There's no point in beating around the bush anymore; the masters must already know that the slaves know something is up, and besides, she'd promised her friends she'd find out what she could. "Does Brittany tell you anything?"

Shannon takes a moment to answer. She stares at Santana hard, which is really sketchy and kind of creepy, but whatever. She moves her mug around a bit, long enough for Santana to be convinced that she's not actually going to answer her. "They're just a bunch of friends trying to keep in touch. Before this year, when they all turned 18, it was just them…I'm sure they seem to act suspicious because they're not used to having other people around their meetings."

Santana narrows her eyes. "I didn't say anything about them acting suspiciously," she says quietly.

Shannon's jaw muscles tense, her eye twitches. "Whatever you've heard at those meetings…it would be good for you to forget it."

The front door slams before Santana can answer and she temporarily forgets the conversation and Shannon's warning. She jumps up from her chair and doesn't even attempt to hide the grin on her face. Brittany may have left her this morning, but that doesn't mean that Santana won't be happy to see her.

But it's not Brittany that enters the kitchen.

It's Pierce.

Santana freezes, unsure of what to do. Pierce isn't her master, but he still has a level of authority, and Santana doesn't know whether to remain standing or to sit back down. Still seated, Shannon stiffens.

"Bri…" Shannon trails off and clears her throat. "Master, is something wrong?"

Pierce walks over and plucks something from the kitchen counter. "Forgot my phone," he says absently. He runs a hand though his hair as he scrolls through his phone. He glances up at Santana. "Where's Brittany?"

Santana opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. No matter how hard she tries, she can't find her voice, and Pierce looks up at her with a stern expression.

Santana's throat closes.

"Rachel's," Shannon says, coming to Santana's rescue. "She went to Rachel's."

Pierce throws a threatening look Shannon's way and her mouth snaps closed. "Why aren’t you with her?" He asks Santana.

Santana gulps. "Rachel told Brittany to leave me here," she answers honestly.

Pierce pockets his phone and advances towards her. "Why? What did you do?"

"Brian-"

"Shut up, Shannon," he barks. Shannon jumps, but doesn't say anymore. He points his finger at Santana. "Did you do something?"

"I-I," Santana stutters, pressing back against the table. "No, I swear."

"Don't lie to me, Slave." Santana's heart lurches painfully. "What did you do to Brittany?"

Santana tries to keep her face from crumpling; she'd never do anything to hurt Brittany, and she wishes that there were a way for her to make him believe that. She's been with the Pierce's for weeks, and Brittany has been nothing but smiles since she's been here.

"I didn't do-"

Santana doesn't realize that she'd accidentally let her voice rise until the back of Pierce's hand connects with her face. Her head snaps back violently, and Santana just barely manages to catch herself on her chair before she can fall to the ground. Instantly, she feels Shannon at her side, her arms supporting her. She cradles her aching cheek with one shaking palm and looks disbelievingly at Pierce. His nostrils flare angrily, and she can't believe that he _actually_ fucking hit her. He'd threatened it plenty of times, she'd certainly be afraid of it, but _fuck_ she'd thought that, deep down, he didn't really have it in him since she belongs to Brittany.

Mostly, though, she's baffled at the look on his face; as surprised as she is that he hit her, Santana thinks that Pierce shocked himself even more. She realizes that, even though he'd threatened, he really had no intentions of ever hurting her.

She wants to smirk at how fucked up it all is, but her face hurts too goddamn much.

Pierce glances briefly at Shannon, and his face softens for a split second before he turns sharply and heads out, slamming the door behind him.

Shannon rushes to fill a clean dish cloth with ice. Santana takes it from her and presses it to her face. She hisses at the sensation.

"He wasn't always so…angry," Shannon says.

Santana ignores her; she's heard the story before and all that she cares about now is that the three of them have to live with this violent person. "Don't tell Brittany," she whispers.

"Santana-"

"Please," Santana begs louder. "There's already enough tension between Britt and her dad. I don't want to add to that."

Shannon pauses, weighing her options, caught between knowing that Santana's right and wanting to do the right thing. "What if it bruises?" She asks finally.

Santana's face hardens. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

\-----

By some odd stroke of luck, her face doesn't bruise.

Santana finds herself wandering aimlessly around the house for the remaining hour that Brittany is out. She begins in the backyard with Lord Tubbington, then works her way to the living room to watch TV, the bathroom to shower, back to the living room to sit and fiddle awkwardly, and finally to her and Brittany's room to just sit and wait.

Without Brittany, Santana feels like she's missing something essential, like her left arm.

When Brittany finally finds her, sitting on the bed cuddling Sir Waddlesworth, she flings her arms out and tackles Santana flat.

Brittany lets out a long, drawn out groan and buries her face in Santana's belly. Santana can't help but giggle. "What's wrong?"

"Rachel's so bossy," Brittany whines pitifully.

Santana sets Sir Waddlesworth aside and combs her fingers through Brittany's hair. Brittany presses closer and curls against Santana. "Are you okay?"

Brittany nods. "I am now." She pulls away just long enough to strip off her jacket and shoes. "Mmm, sleep."

Santana regards the clock and rolls her eyes. "It's not even noon."

"Mmm," Brittany says again. "Don't care."

"I'll never understand how you stay so fit when you sleep so freaking much," Santana says playfully, even as she moves over to accommodate Brittany.

"Just lucky," Brittany sighs. With her eyes closed, Brittany presses her forehead tightly to Santana's. "'Night San." She yawns, adjusts herself a bit more, then settles down. "Love you."

Santana stiffens, unsure if she heard correctly. She pulls her face away slightly; Brittany's eyes are closed, but she doesn't seem to be asleep yet. Santana smiles as tears spring to her eyes, the words repeating themselves over and over again in her head, fluttering in her stomach, in her heart. She hasn't heard those words in three years.

She didn't think she'd ever hear them again.

And after the morning she had, those words are just what Santana needs to hear.

Relaxing, she presses her forehead to Brittany's again and smiles widely. "Love you, too, Britt."


	9. Chapter 9

And as luck would have it, Santana wakes hours earlier than necessary, her right eye throbbing sharply. As carefully as she can, Santana untangles herself from Brittany, mutters "bathroom" when Brittany whines out what sounds suspiciously like "where are you going?", and rushes out of the room.

The bruise that's formed around the base of Santana's eye, curling around her nose just slightly, isn't that big, but it _hurts_ , and she knows that the slightly off color will be instantly noticeable, especially to Brittany. And though the damage isn't as bad as she'd feared, it still startles Santana to see the purple and green mottled with her own natural skin tone.

This part of her life was supposed to be behind her.

She prods at the bruise with a finger and hisses.

What the hell is she going to tell Brittany?

Santana sighs heavily, blowing her hair up and away from her face. The only one that can help her cover this is Shannon. Shannon will definitely know what to do.

Santana scowls at her reflection one last time and flicks the light off. Down the hall, Pierce's door opens, and Santana freezes just outside of Brittany's room when Pierce catches sight of her. His feet, surprisingly light for his build, carry him to Santana in a couple of long strides, and he stops right in front of her. Santana averts her eyes to the floor, but she knows it's too late; he's seen.

They stand awkwardly for a few seconds. Santana's feet shuffle. Pierce remains motionless.

"Don't tell Brittany."

The request is spoken softly, almost whispered, but Santana still jumps at the sound of his voice. She chances a glance up, noting that Pierce's face is devoid of the smugness that she expects, and nods quickly. Satisfied, Pierce ducks into Brittany's room and Santana allows herself a couple of quick breaths before he reappears, hurries down the stairs, and slams the front door.

When Santana is positive that Pierce is gone, she takes the stairs two at a time and stops in the kitchen.

"Please help me," she says pitifully, catching the attention of Shannon, who is already halfway out the sliding glass door, orange juice and paper in hand. When Shannon sees Santana's eye, she clunks her glass on the table and throws the paper to the side.

"Oh, honey," she says sympathetically, grabbing Santana's chin gently and tilting her face to assess the damage.

"Britt is definitely going to notice," Santana whines. She scrunches her face out of habit, then winces as tears spring to her eyes.

Shannon nods. "I think we can cover it up, though," she answers, much to Santana's relief. Shannon gestures for her to follow as she heads to the basement door.

Santana hasn't quite worked out why Shannon sleeps in the basement instead of in the guest bedroom upstairs. She knows that Pierce doesn’t require her to stay down there; Brittany would have mentioned that, Santana's sure of it. Maybe it's because she likes to sleep as far away from Pierce as possible. Or maybe, Santana thinks as Shannon switches a light on over their heads, it's because the Pierces' basement is decked out like Rachel's, a tiny house all by itself. Shannon's got a bed, a TV, her own bathroom; it's like an apartment, really, and maybe it helps Shannon feel like she's got something just for herself.

"Nice place you got here," Santana comments. Shannon shakes her head and snorts, but otherwise remains silent. She leads Santana to her tiny bathroom and gestures for her to sit on the closed toilet lid as she rifles through the cabinets under the sink.

"A little makeup should fix you right up," Shannon mutters. She pulls out a small black bag, shuffles through it for a moment, then puts it back, shaking her head. "If I could only find it."

Santana watches her, twisting her fingers, hoping Brittany doesn't wake up and come looking for her. "I didn't know you wear makeup," she says absently.

Shannon shrugs, finally settling on a bag, a bit larger than the first. "Not anymore." She perches on the edge of the bathtub and lays the bag's contents into her lap. "I used to, when I went out, before Susan died."

"Brittany's mom," Santana adds unnecessarily. Shannon dips a finger into a jar and begins to carefully smear makeup around Santana's eye and nose. Santana winces, more from the foreign feeling than out of any real pain. "What was she like?"

"Susan?" Shannon dips her finger again, thinking hard. "She was beautiful. Smart. Funny. Easy to talk to. Really, add 20 years to Brittany and you have Susan."

Santana smiles at the thought. "So, amazing then?" It's meant as a joke, but the seriousness behind Shannon's nod weighs heavy on Santana.

"You really like her, huh?"

The question startles Santana, and she's unsure how to answer for a moment. Because, duh, of course she likes Brittany. Brittany is nice and funny and sweet and beautiful and-

And Shannon is looking at her like she expects an answer, so maybe now is not the time to assess every single one of Brittany's likeable qualities. Santana shrugs. "Meh. She's okay, I guess." Shannon snorts again and begins to work around Santana's other eye to make them even. Santana decides to change the subject. "Shannon…is there…"

She trails off and Shannon looks up from her bag expectantly. "Is there…?"

Santana swallows, and looks down at her hands, avoiding eye contact. "Is there something that Brittany is hiding from me? About her meetings with Rachel and the others? Because they act…really weird sometimes and-"

"Santana," Shannon cuts her off. She throws her bag back under the sink and shuts the cabinet, a bit harder than necessary. "If there is something Brittany wants you to know, she'll tell you. When the time is right." Santana looks at her with wide eyes and remains quiet. "We should get back upstairs before Brittany wakes up."

Santana nods stiffly and stands. She follows Shannon up the stairs silently.

Something is definitely up.

And as much as Santana wants to find out what, she knows it's probably best to keep her curiosities to herself from now on.

Suddenly, Shannon whirls around on the top step, and Santana is so startled that she nearly falls backwards. "Brittany is going to notice that you're wearing makeup. When she asks why, just say you wanted to try something different. 'Kay?"

"Okay."

\-----

Santana doesn't think it's possible for Brittany to raise her eyebrows any higher, but somehow she manages to do just that.

She'd noticed. Of fucking course Brittany would notice.

"You were curious?" Brittany asks slowly, eyeing Santana's face.

_I ran into a door_ , her mind screams, forming excuses for the bruising lying just below the makeup. The bruising that Brittany hasn't seen yet.

"Yep."

"About…makeup?" Brittany looks pretty skeptical, Santana thinks.

_I fell down the stairs. The cabinet door was open and I ran into it._

"Yep," Santana squeaks again, desperate to quiet her anxiety.

For a minute, Santana's worried that Brittany won't let it go. But eventually, slowly, Brittany's eyebrows begin to descend to their rightful place and she falls quiet for a moment.

Santana exhales slowly, and tries to ignore the itch that's been steadily building on the side of her nose. Does makeup flake off? Santana's pretty sure that it would if she scratched at it like she's longing to do.

"You could have come to me," Brittany says as she plays with an unopened package of Skittles. "About the makeup, I mean. I would have helped."

Santana doesn't think she's ever had to work so hard to keep a cringe off of her face. She keeps her eyes locked on the television. "I know," she says in what she hopes is a light tone. "But Shannon was awake and we were talking and I mentioned it and…here we are."

She feels Brittany's eyes on her again and she looks towards her and grins. When Brittany finally smiles back, shakes her head affectionately, and begins working on ripping her Skittles open, Santana lets a grimace contort her face for a moment; her grin had shot a jab of pain through her nostril and up into her eye.

Brittany leans forward and grabs a book from the coffee table and places it on her lap. "It looks good," she says. She pulls a red Skittle from the bag and places it on the book.

Santana touches her left cheek lightly. "You think?"

"I do." Brittany pulls a green Skittle out and places it on a separate section of the book. "But you were beautiful before, so…"

Santana rolls her eyes, and Brittany giggles at her rising blush. "Yeah, well," she mutters, suppressing a grin. "I probably won't wear it much longer." She prods her cheek. "It's sort of thick."

"That's what she said," Brittany intones absentmindedly, not bothering to look up from her color sorting.

"Oh my god." When Brittany opens her mouth, Santana cuts in again before she can begin her sentence. "Yeah, I know, that's also what she said. Puck is a terrible influence."

Brittany nods in agreement, then wrinkles her nose at the dented, deformed Skittle she's pulled from the bag. She flicks it to the floor, and it is quickly scooped up by Lord Tubbington.

"Aren't sweets bad for animals?"

Brittany shrugs. "It can't be any worse than the time he ate Charity."

"Aww, he ate charity money?"

"No, Charity. My first cat."

Santana jerks her head towards Brittany. "I'm sorry, he did what now?"

"Hey," Brittany says suddenly, completely ignoring Santana's confusion. "Are you ever scared that you might, you know, have an STD or something?" Her face morphs into one of slight horror. "That's not an okay thing to ask," she says, mostly to herself.

Santana smiles again, but it's smaller than before, to avoid hurting herself. She lays a hand on Brittany's arm to regain her attention. "It's okay," she assures her. She steals a purple Skittle and rolls it around in her hand for a moment before popping it into her mouth. "No, I'm not. It's part of the physical they force us to get when we're sold into the market. They test us for diseases and document our scars and shit. It's pretty thorough."

"What happens if they find something?" Brittany asks when she's finished pouting about her stolen Skittle. She tosses another dented one to the floor and it quickly meets the same fate as the first.

Santana shrugs and twists the TV remote in her hands. "I'm not sure. Probably nothing good. It's probably, like, an automatic death sentence or something." She trails off when she notices Brittany's frown, the way she switches her focus to arrange her color piles into different patterns, some in squares, some in pyramids. "But I would much rather hear about Charity," she says, sensing the uneasiness and desperate to change the subject. "Did Tubbs _actually_ eat this cat?"

Though she doesn't look up, Brittany does smile. "Well, she disappeared pretty suddenly, so I can't think of anything else that could have happened."

Santana can think of at least seven other logical things that could have happened just off the top of her head, but she keeps them to herself.

"My aunt is coming to dinner next Friday." Santana isn't sure what she's supposed to say, so she remains quiet. "Well, she's really my dad's aunt. So my great aunt. Though I'm not sure if there's anything _great_ about her, other than her _great accomplishment_ of living so long and making my life miserable and-"

"Britt." Santana lays her hand on top of Brittany's. "You're rambling, honey."

Brittany smiles apologetically and offers Santana the red Skittle that doesn't fit into her diamond pattern. "The point is, she's not very nice. Shannon always stays in her room when Aunt Helena is here, so if you want to stay with her, she's already said that you're welcome to. I wouldn't blame you."

Santana scoots closer and lays her head on Brittany's shoulder. "No way. We're a team. I'm sure it won't be that bad."

\-----

Brittany hasn't even gotten her Aunt Helena halfway down her stone walkway and Santana can tell that, yes, it's _definitely_ going to be that bad.

"Is that your new slave, Brittany dear?" She hears through the open passenger window. Pierce had originally planned to pick up his aunt, but had gotten held up at work. So naturally, he'd delegated the responsibility of retrieving Helena from her home to Brittany. And naturally Santana had chosen to tag along.

A decision she is quickly beginning to regret.

"That's Santana, Aunt Helena."

"Well what's it doing in the front seat?" She snaps her bony fingers twice and shakes her cane viciously in Santana's general direction. "Slave! Out, now!"

Helena has a slight accent that gets thicker as she attempts to sound as if she could physically do anything to make Santana do her bidding.

Santana can tell that it's taking every bit of Brittany's self-control to continue helping the woman to the car. When she tries to vacate the passenger seat, purely to avoid conflict, Brittany rolls her eyes and shakes her head at her. "Santana sits up front with me," she says pointedly.

Helena turns disbelieving eyes to Brittany, halting the effort to wrestle her into the backseat. "What? A slave in the passenger seat? Why, in my day-"

"Yeah, yeah, in your day the slaves rode in the trunk-"

"Please dear, they were lucky if they were allowed anywhere _near_ the car-"

"Santana stays in the front with me," Brittany says grumpily as she finally manages to sit her aunt down in the backseat.

When she moves to walk around to the driver's side, Santana catches her gloved hand through the window. "Britt, really…it's okay, I don't mind moving to the back," she whispers.

" _I_ mind. That's your seat."

Santana smiles, and when she sits back, Helena whacks her on the side of the head with the curved top of her cane, immediately making Santana frown her in direction.

"Roll up that window, slave," she demands.

Never taking her murderous glare off of the woman, Santana rolls the window up.

Goddammit, it's going to be a long day.

\-----

"So, Brian, when did you buy it?" Helena asks, gesturing towards Santana with her knife.

Brittany's hand finds Santana's knee under the table and the gentle pressure reminds Santana not to scream or throw her fork or worse, burst into tears.

Brian sips his water, then says, "Brittany's birthday. A late present." Helena nods as if she understands, but Santana doubts she even knows when Brittany's birthday is. Pierce and Helena delve into a discussion, then, about the grieving process and how Pierce had been so worried about Brittany mourning for so long.

Santana's not quite sure any of it is Helena's business; mourning the loss of someone as close as a mother is a very private experience, something Santana herself is all too familiar with. It's not something to take lightly or for anyone but the grieving to discuss.

And it's not okay, Santana thinks, to force a time limit on it.

Beside her, Brittany goes rigid, and Santana covers the hand on her knee with her own and squeezes. Brittany turns her head toward Santana and smiles before jerking her head slightly in the other direction.

_Let's get out of here._

Santana grins and nods, and Brittany stands, pulling Santana up with her. "Dad, we're going to go to the park or something."

Pierce frowns. "Honey, don’t you want to spend some time with your aunt?"

Brittany glances at Helena, who is holding her empty plate out and seems entirely irked by the fact that Santana refuses to take it from her hands. "I haven't been out in a few days, dad." She pulls Santana towards the door.

"Really, Brian," Helena tsks. "Couldn't you have picked a better one? This one's so rude."

Brittany spins stiffly on her heel. "Santana doesn't do dishes," she spits, and Santana is shocked to hear the venom in her words. "Or anything else that you say, for that matter."

"Britt-" Pierce starts.

"I'll see you later, dad."

As she's being pulled from room, Santana glances over her shoulder.

Pierce's glare is the only thing that she can see.

\-----

Brittany's shaking so badly that she can't get her key into the ignition.

"Britt," Santana says softly. She puts her left hand on Brittany's shoulder and uses her right to take the key from Brittany and slip it into the ignition for her.

"How can he do that?" Brittany questions. Santana rubs her shoulder and lets her vent. "How can he say that I'd grieved for too long when he's still so angry. It's not…it's not _fair_. She doesn't deserve to know how or for how long I grieved. She doesn't deserve to know anything about me."

She seems like she has more to say, but can't seem to get the words out, so Santana says, "I know," just to reassure Brittany that she's still there, she's still listening. She takes Brittany's hand and kisses the back of it. "I'm still grieving my mother, too," she says as simply as she can manage. "We can grieve together."

Brittany heaves a huge sigh and is quiet for a moment before smiling over at Santana. "Let's go to Rachel's."

Santana grins, the last bit of tension running out of her, quickly replaced by excitement; she hasn't seen her friends in over a week, and wasn't sure she ever would again. "Awesome."

Brittany reaches over and pulls Santana into a hug over the center console. "I love you, you know? You're my best friend."

Santana smiles, despite the slight sadness she feels, and squeezes Brittany. "Yeah, Britt. You're my best friend, too."


	10. Chapter 10

Mike glares at Santana, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Santana stands her ground, glaring right back.

Beside Mike, Puck leans forward menacingly.

Santana refuses to be bullied into submission, and when Mike narrows his eyes, she just smirks at him.

It only seems to anger them further. "Give it up, Lopez."

"Never."

Mike growls, and it takes everything Santana has to not laugh in his face.

She's not afraid of him.

"C'mon, Lopez, it'll be a lot easier for all of us once you surrender."

Santana ignores Puck's goading and focuses all of her attention on Mike. He's the dangerous one, the one she needs to be wary of.

Mike sets his jaw, clenches his fists.

Santana narrows her eyes, just slightly.

Mike blinks.

A chorus of cheers rise from behind Santana, and she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, thoroughly enjoying the groans of defeat from behind Mike.

"Best two out of three!"

"In your dreams, Puckerman," Brittany says from Santana's side. She squeezes Santana's hand in silent congratulations before continuing, "Santana won the staring contest fair and square, now fork over her winnings, losers."

Mike pushes the large bag of candy – which had been resting comfortably between him and Puck on the table – closer to her, and winces when Puck punches him in the arm.

"Dude, I've been saving that up for, like, three weeks!" Puck complains.

Santana pops a gum ball into her mouth and happily accepts a giant kiss on the cheek from Brittany.

"Next time," Brittany says when she pulls away. "Don't put all of your chickens in one egg, Puck." Puck narrows his eyes and cocks his head slightly to the left in confusion, and Quinn leans over to whisper in Brittany's ear for a moment. When Quinn pulls away, Brittany says, "Don't put all of your eggs in one basket, Puck."

Santana smiles fondly and hands Brittany a stick of taffy, which earns her another kiss on the cheek before Brittany steals away to the corner to speak to Mercedes and Rachel.

"Looks like you two have gotten pretty close," Mike says knowingly. He's still rubbing his arm where Puck hit him, and Santana really doesn't want to laugh, so she manages – just barely – to turn her chuckle into a cough.

"I could say the same for you and other Asian." She nods towards Tina, then makes a show of blowing a gigantic bubble with her gum.

"What can I say, she's my lady." Mike jabs at her bubble with his finger, as if to pop it, but Santana just raises an eyebrow, entirely unphased.

She sucks the gum back into her mouth, then asks, "Do your parents know?"

Mike grins, nods, and tries to swipe a piece of candy. When Santana's quick hands thwart his efforts, he pouts and says, "Yeah, they know. They're okay with it but they don't exactly understand."

Santana scoffs bitterly. "I wish Britt's dad was like that."

Mike cringes, but before he can reply, Puck interjects. "Yo, that dude needs to take a serious chill pill." Before she can stop him, he grabs a fistful of candy, drops a kiss to the top of her head, and runs off to share with Kurt.

Santana shakes her head but lets the matter die as she finally allows Mike to share her winnings.

As she watches Brittany converse with Mercedes and Rachel, Santana sobers. "You guys have been…really good to us."

Mike makes a noise, and Santana isn't sure if it's a scoff or a laugh. He looks around at the room's other occupants. Puck has joined Brittany, Mercedes, and Rachel in the corner. Finn and Artie have taught Kurt, Sam, and Tina how to play Poker and are attempting to best them in their first real game, unaware that Quinn is standing behind the two of them silently revealing their cards to their students.

Mike's gaze returns to her and he clasps Santana's shoulder for a moment. "You're our friends," he says finally. "We treat our friends with respect here." He gives her shoulder one last firm squeeze before following Puck to join Brittany, Mercedes, and Rachel.

She smiles and shakes her head slightly before looking towards the Poker game. Finn and Artie have caught on to how the others had gotten so good after only one lesson, and now Finn is playfully tickling Quinn as she squeals that she is innocent.

Santana rises and saunters over to attempt to bask in Quinn's misery, but as soon as Artie spots her, he taps Finn's elbow and gestures towards the opposite side of the room.

They excuse themselves, and Kurt heaves a huge sigh once they're gone. "Aaaand there they go. Again," he says.

"Guys, we need to be majorly careful with our curiosity from now on," Tina says. "I don't want to be left at home alone again. It's super boring."

Santana sits beside Sam and sets her candy down beside them. He immediately begins helping himself, and Santana wishes she'd chosen her seat more wisely. She hits him on the shoulder lightly and gestures to the others. "Share, Trouty Mouth," she says. He frowns at her, but pushes the bag closer to the center of the table anyways. "Okay, wait. So you're telling me that I'm not the only one that got left at home last time?"

"Yep," Quinn says bitterly, then scoffs in Santana's direction. "What, did you think Rachel and Brittany were only punishing _you_ for asking questions?"

Santana rolls her eyes; sometimes she just does not like Quinn. "That's exactly what I thought, Blondie." Quinn rolls her eyes. "How was I supposed to know, I haven't seen you guys in, like, a hundred years."

It becomes obvious that the other three have been completely ignoring them when Sam says, "Guys, maybe we should just leave it alone. If they want us to know, they'll tell us."

"I'm disappointed," Santana tells him flatly. "You were the most excited about this at one point." Sam just shrugs, but doesn't get the chance to answer.

"Uh, excuse me," Quinn says, holding a finger up. "If they're doing something that involves us, I think we deserve to know what it is."

"Well, technically," Tina says. "We don't _deserve_ anything. In case you've forgotten, we're slaves."

"Shut up, Tina."

Tina glares at Santana, who just shrugs and grins, although she knows Tina has a point.

"Both of you shut up and listen," Quinn says before leaning closer over the table. "Berry has literally started keeping all of that crap-" She gestures to the couch where the Masters' books and notebooks have been sitting since they all arrived. "-under lock and key. They _really_ do not want us anywhere near what they're planning."

Kurt taps his chin. "This just gets more and more interesting."

Santana sighs and rests her chin in her hand. "Guys, I think Sam may be right," she concedes regretfully. Quinn coughs into her hand, poorly disguising the word _quitter_ , and Santana rolls her eyes again. "I was going to say that you also have a solid point, but never mind." Quinn looks unconvinced, but remains quiet. "I'm curious, sure, but I don't want Britt to be mad at me. And I definitely don't want to be left at home with her dad again."

Kurt frowns. "Did he do something?"

Santana groans and drops her face into her hands. When she looks up, her friends are leaning impossibly closer. "Fuck, okay, you can't tell _anyone_." She points at each of them in turn, making sure to make eye contact so that they know that she is dead serious. Once they've all agreed, she sighs and whispers, "Well, the day the masters left all of us at home, I was in the kitchen with Shannon. Pierce was already gone, but he forgot his phone, so he came back. He asked where Brittany was, found out that she had left me behind, and thought that I did something to upset her. So he backhanded me."

Kurt and Tina gasp. Sam looks like he could run from the room and murder Pierce at any moment.

"Does Brittany know?" Quinn asks lowly. Santana shakes her head, making Quinn quirk an eyebrow. "Did it bruise?"

"For a couple of days." Santana shrugs. "Shannon helped me hide it with makeup."

Tina puts a hand to her chest. "Why didn't you tell Brittany?"

"Because she already can't stand to be in the same room as her dad. I don’t want her to completely hate him because of me."

"That man." Quinn shakes her head. "He's so hell bent on keeping others from hurting Brittany that he can't see that he's the only one who actually is."

"I know!" Santana says, thankful that someone else gets it. "He can't see that just the sight of him is nearly enough to make Brittany cry."

"I think just the sight of him is nearly enough to make Noah cry," Kurt mumbles. Santana gestures to Kurt as if to say _see?_.

"Well, if you ask me," Sam says. He steals another piece of candy and twirls it absently between his fingers. "I don't think you, Brittany, or Shannon should be in that house."

"Brittany and Santana could easily leave if they had somewhere else to go," Kurt says, as though he's suddenly been struck with an idea.

"That would be great, but what about Shannon?" Tina points out. "She's in more danger than Brittany and Santana. Pierce actually owns her." Santana's thankful that she isn't the only one who cares what would happen to the other woman.

Quinn crosses her arms and rests her elbows on the table, but she doesn't get the chance to respond because Brittany chooses that moment to bound over.

She leans over and rests her chin on Santana's shoulder. "Thought I heard my name. What's up?"

"Oh, um," Santana scrambles.

"Santana was just telling us about how she could easily beat you at arm wrestling," Quinn supplies _oh so helpfully_.

Santana gawks at her and Brittany looks affronted.

"Oh it's on, Lopez."

\-----

Santana flexes her sore arm, then rubs it vigorously. She'd beaten Brittany in arm wrestling, but she highly suspects that Brittany had definitely let her win.

But of course Puck had seen what was happening across the room and had declared a tournament.

And had promptly began calling foul when Mike beat him in the first ten seconds.

Santana sits heavily on the side of Brittany's bed. She pouts and cradles her arm pitifully. "You know, you could have told me that you were going to let me win. I wouldn't have tried so hard."

Brittany plops on the bed beside her. She throws one arm over Santana's shoulders to pull her closer and uses her free hand to rub at Santana's arm. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

Santana huffs out a laugh and leans into Brittany's embrace. "Yeah, you can stop pretending now, I saw you take Sam out without breaking a sweat."

Brittany throws her head back and laughs. "Okay, okay, you caught me. But to be fair you held your own for, like, twenty seconds."

"My arm got tired," Santana gripes.

"Poor baby," Brittany coos. She plants a kiss on Santana's temple, and though Santana rolls her eyes good naturedly, she sighs happily.

"This is nice."

Brittany hums but otherwise remains quiet. The entire house is pleasantly quiet; Santana thinks it's safe, then, so assume that Pierce is still not home.

Brittany shifts beside her, and Santana pulls away so that Brittany can move up the bed to place her head on her pillow. Once she's settled, she opens her arms wide. Santana grins at her before crawling up to rest her head on Brittany's shoulder.

"I'm glad you decided to take me to Rachel's this time," she mumbles. Brittany scratches her nails up and down the arm resting across her stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Santana can't see Brittany's face, but she sounds guilty when she asks, "Was it boring last time?"

Santana shrugs one shoulder. She suddenly wishes they'd turned out the light before lying own; though her bruise has long faded, the fear that Brittany will see it has not. "You could say that."

Brittany giggles, and Santana can hear it reverberate through her chest; it quells her fear and makes her smile. "Yeah, you got so bored you decided to play in Shannon's makeup kit."

Santana's smile falters again. The memory of Pierce backhanding her returns; she wants to remind Brittany that the makeup foray happened the morning after, but she's afraid that if she does, Brittany will ask her what she actually did while she was gone, then.

She would have to lie.

She doesn't want to lie to Brittany.

She doesn't realize that her whole body has gotten tense until Brittany nudges her chin up. "You okay?"

Santana forces her face to remain neutral. "Yeah."

Brittany frowns and Santana wonders if anyone has ever gotten anything past Brittany. "Santana-"

"I'm fine," Santana assures, adding a small smile for good measure. "I promise."

Brittany looks entirely unconvinced as she allows Santana to return her head to her shoulder. "If there's something you need to tell me-"

Santana laughs, cutting Brittany off. "What could there be that you don't already know?" She asks, ignoring the nagging in the back of her mind; she's not lying, just…deflecting. "We're literally together 24/7."

"I know, god, I'm so sick of your face."

"Ugh, I know right," Santana plays along, looking up so that Brittany can properly see the grimace on her face.

They make disgusted faces at each other for a few more seconds until Santana feels Brittany's fingers wander to her sides to begin dancing tortuously.

Santana squeals and squirms, but neither do anything to still Brittany's merciless hands, and Santana tries to roll away.

"Britt-" she wheezes, which only makes Brittany laugh harder and roll her over to pin her down. Brittany's giggles mingle with her own as Santana fights for dominance. Brittany might be stronger, but Santana hopes that Brittany's precarious perch on her hips will make it easy to topple her.

"Say uncle," Brittany demands, using one hand to bat away both of Santana's while her other continues its assault on Santana's midsection.

"Never," Santana manages to choke out. Brittany may have let her win at arm wrestling, but Santana doesn't think that she'll be so quick to give in this time.

"Say it."

"Britt, I'm gonna pee!"

Brittany barks out a laugh. "Does that mean you give up?"

"No!" If she pees on Brittany…well, it'll be all Brittany's fault.

"C'mon, Santana," Brittany taunts, not realizing that one of Santana's hands has snuck past her defenses. Santana digs her fingers into the bend of Brittany's knee, praying that she's ticklish there. Brittany shrieks and her balance falters enough for Santana to roll her off of her hips. Brittany lands beside her, her face red from laughing.

Santana throws her arms up. "Victory!"

"Psht, you got lucky." Brittany winds her arms around Santana and pulls her a bit closer, and Santana shifts to her side so that she can rest her forehead against Brittany's as she attempts to catch her breath.

Santana is silent for several seconds. She rubs Brittany's arm as Brittany rubs her back. "Yeah," she says. "I did get lucky." Brittany's smile grows, and Santana bites her lip. She's suddenly overcome with the crippling need to kiss Brittany, but she's not quite sure if such a thing would be appreciated.

She releases a huff of air, and Brittany frowns. "Santana?" She asks worriedly.

Santana shakes her head slightly and grips at Brittany's sleeve when she tries to pull away. "No, I'm fine, I just…" She huffs again, annoyed at herself. There is absolutely no harm in at least asking, she reasons. "Can…can I kiss you?"

Brittany's breath hitches, and as she pulls Santana closer and leans in, she whispers, "Silly. You don't have to ask."

Santana wants to tell Brittany that she just wanted to be sure – since they've only kissed, really kissed, once – but Brittany's already eagerly wrapped her lips around Santana's top lip and _oh_ Santana knows that if she weren’t lying down, her knees would have buckled instantly.

She moves her lips against Brittany's, slowly, and Brittany backs off a tiny bit, letting Santana explore, giving her total control. Her hand roams Santana's waist, her back, her side, leaving a trail of fire in its wake; Santana quivers and wonders just when it'd gotten so hot.

She brings her hand up to Brittany's neck, kissing first her top lip, then the bottom one before sliding the tip of her tongue across it. Brittany opens for her immediately and Santana gasps when their tongues touch for the first time. Brittany's hips jerk and her fingers still on Santana's shoulder blade and dig in, making Santana arch into her.

It's obviously taking everything Brittany has to surrender total control to Santana, and Santana appreciates the effort, really.

But she wants more. So much more.

She rolls over, pinning Brittany under her, and when she grinds her hips, Brittany grunts into her mouth. Santana, breathing heavily, tears her mouth away from Brittany's and trails open mouth kisses along her cheek, nips at her jaw and neck. Panting, Brittany turns her head to give Santana better access, and her fingers tug at Santana's hips as she grinds up and into her.

"Santana," she breathes out. Santana hums and nips at Brittany's neck before bringing their mouths back together. She forgets to be embarrassed about her lack of experience when she runs her tongue over Brittany's and Brittany whimpers.

God, Santana wants her so bad. She _aches_ for Brittany.

Gathering her courage, Santana lets her hand wander up Brittany's shirt. She rakes her nails over Brittany's abs, then brushes the backs of her fingers across the underside of Brittany's bra.

Brittany startles and gropes blindly for Santana's wrist. When she finds it, she jerks Santana's hand from under her shirt.

"Wait," she gasps as she pulls her mouth from Santana's. She slides out from under Santana and jumps away and off the bed so quickly that she topples over.

"Britt!" Santana yelps. She crawls to the edge of the bed, and when Brittany leaps up from the floor, she almost catches Santana's chin with the top of her head. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Brittany answers quickly, but her voice is strained, her eyes wild. She runs her hands through her hair, then tugs on her shirt to put it back in place. The tips of her eyes are bright red. "It's…it's nothing. I just…"

It clicks, then. Santana realizes what's wrong. She crosses her arms and huffs, unsure whether she's hurt or angry or a mixture. "It's because I'm a slave, right?" It's rhetorical, and she rolls her eyes and chuckles darkly. Her chest aches. She just wants to disappear. She never thought she'd feel this way with Brittany. "Of course, I should have known. You could have anyone, why would you want a _slave_." She spits the word like it's bile on her tongue.

Maybe it is.

"No!" Brittany says loudly, pushing her hands in front of her. "No, it's nothing like that, I swear!"

"Brittany, don't lie to me." Santana scowls up at Brittany, her face hot with shame. "I know, okay. I'm a slave, I have a purpose, and that purpose isn't to enjoy-"

"Look, okay, it _is_ because of…that," Brittany relents, but rushes to explain herself when Santana's face completely crumples and she looks away. "But it isn't what you think!" She lowers herself to kneel in front of Santana and forces Santana's arms to uncross so she can take her hands. "I don't want you to think…that I'm only making love to you because you're a…you know. I want it to be special."

Santana continues to stare to the side for so long that Brittany wonders if she'd even heard the words. Or if she cared about them at all. Then, slowly, Santana turns her head; she refuses to look Brittany in the eye when she mumbles, "But that's what I am. That's…all I'll ever be."

Brittany's heart breaks at the resignation in Santana's voice. A tear slides down Santana's cheek, and Brittany reaches to wipe it away, but Santana beats her to it. She sighs and moves up to the bed. After a bit of coaxing, Santana allows herself to be pulled into Brittany's lap. "Just…be patient."

Santana scoffs and asks, "Be patient with what, exactly?" And though the words are muffled by her neck, Brittany catches the deep bitterness in them.

Brittany presses a kiss to Santana's eyebrow. "If I'm wrong," she says in lieu of an answer. "Then I'll come home and make love to you as long as you want. Okay?"

Santana wants to trust that Brittany is telling the truth, that Brittany even knows what she's talking about, but she isn't sure. She wishes Brittany wouldn't be so cryptic about everything; what is there to be right or wrong about? She offers a small nod; she just wants the conversation to be over. She just wants to go to sleep.

Brittany guides both of them to the head of the bed again, and Santana lets her rub her back until she falls asleep.

\-----

When she wakes a couple of hours later, the light is off and she's alone, still on top of the blankets. She waits for several long minutes for Brittany to return, and when there's no sign of her, Santana rises from the bed and pads to the door.

The bathroom light is off, the door wide open. The house is silent. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she looks to the left; the kitchen is dark and empty. When she looks to the right, she almost misses the dark lump on the couch.

_Brittany_.

Santana bites her lip and contemplates waking Brittany to ask if she's okay, but changes her mind. If Brittany wanted anything to do with her, she wouldn't be sleeping on the couch.

She turns and makes her way quietly back to their room, her tongue jammed to the roof of her mouth in an effort not to cry.

Santana doesn't sleep the rest of the night.

\-----

When she hears the door open after the sun has risen, Santana waits until the count of three before she rolls away from the wall she'd been facing.

Brittany offers a small, awkward smile and pretends she's just risen from the bed.

Santana pretends that she doesn't know that Brittany's lying.

\-----

Brittany won't stay in a room with her alone for more than five minutes. Santana helps Shannon around the house, making forced small talk.

When they lay down for bed, Brittany bids her goodnight, turns out the light, and faces the window.

It feels like her first night in Brittany's bed all over again.

Santana faces the wall, wraps her arms around herself, and cries herself to sleep.

\-----

A few days later, when there isn't a chore left for Santana to help with, Shannon demands to know what is going on.

"You two have been inseparable for months," she says, and Santana can't bear to meet her eyes. "Now it seems like you guys don't even want to be in the same room. What's going on, kid?"

"We just…had a disagreement," Santana mutters, picking at a loose thread on her sweatpants. She can hear bits and pieces of the television playing in the living room. The sound is deafening to her. She should be in there with Brittany, not sitting at the kitchen table, her hands smelling of bleach as she stares blankly at the newspaper. "We're fine, it's just awkward."

Apparently Shannon agrees that this is not the proper place for Santana; she grips Santana by her upper arm and pulls her up. Santana is so stunned that she stumbles over her feet when Shannon pushes her towards the living room. Towards Brittany. "Go fix it, kid," Shannon says sternly. "If I have to smell any more cleaning products in the next couple of days, I might risk running away."

The joke isn't funny to Santana, and she ignores Shannon. She stares hard at Brittany's profile, pondering how to _fix it_.

How do you fix something when you're not entirely sure why it's breaking?

And to be honest, she isn't so sure that Brittany wants to fix it.

Santana takes tiny steps towards the living room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Is Brittany even angry at her? Or is she simply disgusted that Santana threw herself at her?

Santana doesn't know which is worse.

Gingerly, she sits on the couch beside Brittany, careful to not make too much movement. While the tension makes it hard to breathe, Brittany makes no move to get away from her.

Then again, Santana isn't even sure Brittany knows she's there. She's staring blankly at the television, and when Santana reaches out hesitantly to touch her arm, Brittany jumps.

She turns wide eyes to Santana, and she seems shocked that she had allowed Santana near her. She gives a small, sad smile and rises from the couch.

Santana holds her breath; if she dares to breathe she'll break.

Brittany's walking away from her again.

Santana can't let her leave.

Somehow Santana knows that if she allows Brittany to walk away from her now, they'll never fix this.

It will all crumble.

"Brittany," she exhales desperately and stands quickly. Brittany freezes in the door. Her shoulders slump and she turns, but refuses to meet Santana's eyes. It seems she still can't say no to Santana, and she decides to take that small victory. "Let's go see the ducks."

\-----

Somehow during the drive, Santana finds the strength to reach across the center console and take Brittany's hand.

Surprisingly, Brittany doesn't fight the contact. She latches on and holds tightly, as if she'll simply float away if Santana lets go. Curious at the change, Santana glances at Brittany's left hand only to find it wrapped just as tightly around the steering wheel.

Santana strokes her hand up and down Brittany's arm. "What's wrong?" She asks thickly. "What's happening to us?"

Brittany's hand tightens painfully around hers. Santana tries her hardest to give Brittany's hand an equal amount of pressure, desperate to understand what has Brittany so upset while simultaneously trying to convey that she's there, she's not going anywhere.

Brittany shakes her head and pulls Santana's hand to her lips to kiss her knuckles slowly.

Her face is wet, and it makes Santana turn in her seat and pull Brittany's hand into her lap to hold with both of hers. "Britt…honey, why are you crying?"

Brittany takes a shaky breath and rubs her thumb across every inch of Santana's hand that it can reach. "I'm sorry," she says. She chances to take her hand off the steering wheel for a fleeting moment to wipe her face. "I just…I haven't been sure that I could control myself after…well, you know."

Brittany's scaring her, and Santana can't comprehend what she's talking about. "I don't understand. Britt…help me understand. Please."

Brittany's face scrunches up, and she seems to struggle with herself for a moment before she finally sobs, "I really want to make love to you." Santana's bottom lip trembles as Brittany takes her hand away to wipe frantically at her face.

Okay, so not disgusted. That's good.

Santana reaches out and lays a hand on Brittany's knee. She won't cry. It won't help Brittany calm down if she starts crying too. "Then why won't you?" She chokes out. "Brittany, I'm here. I want it just as much as you."

Brittany just shakes her head. "It has to be perfect."

Santana leans closer. She touches her lips to the shell of Brittany's ear tenderly, and nuzzles Brittany's hair with her nose. She brings her right hand up to the left side of Brittany's face to hold her close. "Baby, it will be perfect," she whispers. Brittany leans into her. "As long as it's you and me. Together. It will be perfect. I don't need anything else."

Santana can see the beginnings of a smile on Brittany's face before it falls and she shakes her head again. "I can't," she says. "Not yet. It has to be perfect."

There's something that Brittany wants to say, but can't. It's buried beneath the surface of her words, and Santana wonders if she's not saying it because she literally cannot or simply because she can't find the right words. Either way, Brittany's getting more upset by the minute, which is the exact opposite of what Santana wanted, so she takes a deep breath and tries for a new approach. "Okay. Okay, Britt-Britt. It'll be perfect. We'll make it perfect. We _will_."

She doesn't think that it's exactly what Brittany wanted to hear, but Brittany doesn't push the point further. She turns red eyes to Santana briefly. "I don't want to fight with you anymore."

Santana gives her a watery smile; it pains her to see Brittany so torn up about something she can't understand. "I don't want to fight anymore, either."

Most of the tension visibly bleeds from Brittany's body. She pulls into a parking space, and when they leave the car, Brittany is quick to wrap an arm around Santana's shoulders to hold her close.

Just being close to Brittany again puts Santana at ease, and she gladly wraps both of her arms around Brittany's waist.

\-----

They hadn't thought to bring bread to feed the ducks, so they're left to watch their feathered friends frolic in the water while they sit in silence.

"I'm glad you had this idea," Brittany says softly after a time. Her arm has yet to leave Santana's shoulders, and Santana holds her other hand tightly in her lap.

Santana leans her head on Brittany's shoulder and sighs happily. Things aren't a hundred percent back to normal, but it feels close enough for now. "Well, I'm glad we're here together."

Brittany runs her fingers in different patterns over Santana's shoulder. "We'll still be coming here a hundred years from now."

Santana laughs and raises her head to look at Brittany. "So glad you plan on both of us living to the ripe old age of 118." _And that you plan on us still being together_ , she adds to herself.

Brittany whirls her head to look at Santana, her face alight. "You did math!" She exclaims.

Santana blushes and shrugs it off, but she's surprised at how easily that had come to her. "Yeah, well. I had a good teacher, so."

Brittany hesitates - just long enough for Santana to notice – before kissing her forehead softly. "You've come so far," she whispers, and it sounds like she's about to burst into tears again.

Startled, Santana pulls back; things had been going so well.

The look in Brittany's eyes makes Santana think she's finally figured out what Brittany is so afraid of.

She wants all of their firsts to be perfect. But she's afraid they won't be.

She's afraid there won't be time.

For reasons unknown to her, Santana finds herself afraid of the same thing.

\-----

They leave the duck pond early enough to make a quick stop at Rachel's for a brief visit. This time, instead of entering the basement, they go right through the front door, and Santana gets to see Rachel's house for the first time.

There's an unnerving quantity of photographs of Rachel. _Everywhere_.

To Santana's immense relief, Mercedes is there with Sam; Brittany had started acting weird again on the drive over, and Santana feels like she needs Sam or Kurt or someone to talk to.

And she hadn't wanted that someone to be Quinn.

It doesn't help to ease her nerves when Brittany bursts into tears when Mercedes wraps her in a hug. Rachel and Mercedes lead Brittany upstairs and when Santana, completely freaked out, tries to follow, Mercedes gently shakes her head at her.

She feels Sam's hand on her shoulder and Quinn's on her elbow as she listens to a door upstairs close forcefully. She's completely in shock. She's not sure what happened this time.

She wants to shrug Quinn and Sam off of her, but she can't find the strength.

She feels like she'll fall apart if they continue to touch her.

She feels like she won't be grounded if they let go.

How had everything gone to shit so quickly?

Quinn must feel her tense, because she moves away and motions for Sam to move closer instead. He wraps his arms around her, and she leans into him, grateful that he's there, grateful that Quinn seems to get it.

Sam is warm and firm and he's the only thing keeping her on her feet.

But he's not Brittany.

"C'mon," Quinn says quietly. "Let's go talk in the kitchen."

Sam sets her on a stool while Quinn gets her a glass of water. She gives them a very brief run through of what's happened, offering very little details, and in the short time her summary takes, Brittany, Rachel, and Mercedes return, denying Quinn and Sam the chance to offer their much needed words of comfort.

"Are you ready to go?" Brittany asks quietly. Her face is puffy, her eyes red and swollen, but her small smile is genuine, so Santana nods even though she wants to spend some more time with Sam and Quinn.

She says her goodbyes, accepts a huge hug from Sam, and takes Brittany's hand to go to the car.

\-----

Luckily, they make it home in time for dinner.

The downside is that Pierce is home – for the first time in two days – and try as she might, Brittany can't hide the evidence that she's been crying for the better part of the day.

He reaches out and lays a gentle hand to her cheek. She flinches from his touch. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Brittany sighs and cradles her forehead in her hands, shielding her eyes from her father. "Nothing, dad," she says wearily. Santana feels the same way. She wants nothing more than to take Brittany's hand, lead her to their bed, and sleep until it all goes away.

But Pierce doesn't want to let it go.

_So predictable_.

"Are you sick? Did something happen?" He places what he seems to think is a comforting hand on Brittany's upper arm, and she shrugs it off.

"I'm just tired, dad," she says. She rises from the table. "I think I'm just going to go to bed."

When Brittany vacates her seat, Santana gets a clear view of Pierce's face and sees the exact moment that he realizes that she still exists.

"You." He points an angry finger at her face and she flinches at the quick motion. "What did you do to her this time?"

"I didn't-"

He slams his open palm down on the table, toppling Brittany's glass of water, and Santana, Brittany, and Shannon all jump from the loud sound. "Don't you lie to me, slave!"

"Dad, please," Brittany whimpers. She covers her face with her hands, and Santana knows it won't take much to break her again.

Pierce stands and reaches out to wrap his arms around Brittany, but she moves away from him. "Honey," he pleads, unable to fathom – or unwilling to accept – that he's scaring his daughter. "Brittany, what did she do to you?"

Brittany shakes her head, and Santana can tell that she's lost the ability to speak. She's crying too hard.

"Brian," Shannon starts timidly, and _goddammit_ Santana hates what this man does to all of them. "I don't think Santana-"

He rounds on Shannon. "What did she do?" He demands of her. He refuses to listen to reason. "Tell me, now!"

Shannon holds her hands out, at a total loss of how to calm him. "Please Brian – Master – calm down-"

"Don't tell me what to do!" He bellows, his face red, a vein in his temple bulging. He draws his hand back as if to strike Shannon, but seems satisfied when she cowers from him. He turns back to Santana. "You will tell me what you did to my daughter, and you will tell me now!"

Santana clenches her jaw. "I didn't do anything." She touches Brittany's elbow, and Brittany turns into her, burying her face in Santana's neck. "Can't you see you're scaring her?"

Pierce steps towards them. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Santana spits. "You're scaring Brittany. You're so concerned with others hurting her that you can't see that you're the one who actually is," she says, repeating Quinn's words from a few days ago.

"Santana," Shannon says in warning.

"Shut _up_ , Bieste!" Brittany whines and Santana pulls her closer, one hand on Brittany's hip, the other pressing between her shoulder blades. "How dare you accuse me of scaring my own daughter."

"But you are," Santana argues. "Look at her!"

"Don't you raise your voice to me."

"Well I have to," Santana snarks. "You seem to have a hearing problem."

"I won't hesitate to hit you again, girl!"

Brittany stills in her arms and raises her head slowly to look into Santana's eyes. The incredulous, murderous look on her face scares Santana. "What?" She demands, her voice scratchy.

Santana tightens her hold on Brittany. "Britt, wait-"

But it's too late. Brittany breaks from her arms and turns to Pierce. The color drains from his face as he realizes what he's said. He'd been too enraged to filter himself.

"Is it true? Did you hit Santana?"

"Brittany…" he says, his voice softer than Santana's ever heard.

Brittany turns back to Santana. "When?" She asks forcefully. "When did he hit you?"

Santana swallows and looks around to Pierce; there's no use lying now. The truth is out, and acting like it's not will only make it worse. Santana clears her throat. "A few weeks ago. When you went to Rachel's alone."

Santana sees the moment it clicks in Brittany's mind. "The makeup," she says absently. "You were covering it up." Santana nods stiffly, and her fingers twist against each other nervously in front of her. Brittany turns back to Pierce. "How dare you," she says lowly, her voice thick once again. 

Santana places a gentle hand on Brittany's elbow and tugs once. "Britt, c'mon, let's go talk about this," she whispers, but Brittany ignores her.

Seems she has her father's temper.

Brittany points her finger in Pierce's face, and he has the decency to look ashamed. "How dare you," she repeats before swinging her arm around to point behind her at Santana. "How dare you hit Santana. She's my slave, dad!"

_She's my slave._

_My slave._

_Slave._

Santana's face falls.

The rest of the argument is lost to her.


	11. Chapter 11

Brittany is yelling.

Pierce is yelling.

At some point, a plate is thrown across the room, but Santana isn't sure who threw it.

A heavy arm is around Santana, pulling her away from the table, pushing her up the stairs.

Santana's chest feels hollow, yet heavy at the same time. The yelling, the sobbing, the breaking dishes. That word. _Slave_.

It's all too much.

Halfway up the stairs, the arm drops from her shoulders, and though the weight is gone, Santana still feels like she can't breathe, like her throat is closing and her lungs are shriveling into nothing.

Two large hands cup her face, and when she blinks Shannon's face swims into view. Her mouth is moving, and it takes Santana a couple of agonizing seconds to make out what she's saying.

"She didn't mean it." Santana blinks again. She hears the words Shannon is whispering to her. She hears the pleading tone. She hears the clunking footsteps approaching, the front door slamming, and the footsteps disappearing into a car door closing forcefully. She hears the sudden silence, pressing on her ears, but it all sounds like background noise to what Brittany said.

 _She's my slave_.

"Do you hear me, Santana?" Shannon asks desperately, and it must be pretty important, Santana thinks, if Shannon is using her name instead of _kid_. She's crying, and she squeezes Santana's face to keep her attention. "She. Didn't. Mean it."

Santana's not sure, but she thinks that she may have nodded, because, though Shannon doesn't look satisfied, she releases Santana and steps back.

And there's Brittany, standing at the bottom of the stairs, tears streaming down her face, her chin trembling violently.

Santana freezes, forcing her face to remain neutral as Brittany stares at her.

The hollow feeling in her chest only seems to get worse.

When she looks at Brittany, she feels like she's looking at a stranger.

It shouldn't be this way.

Or maybe it should. Santana's not sure anymore.

Brittany takes the stairs two at a time. "Britt…" Shannon tries, but Brittany ignores her. She grabs Santana's hand and pulls her away.

Though Pierce is long gone, Brittany slams her bedroom door and turns the lock dramatically. She turns to Santana and throws her arms around her neck and sobs, "I'm sorry. I didn't know! Why didn't you tell me? If I had known, I swear…" She trails off when she realizes that Santana isn't hugging her back, merely standing with her arms at her sides, limp. She pulls her head back enough to look at Santana's face. "Santana?"

Santana averts her gaze to the floor and mumbles, "What would you have me do, _Mistress_?"

As tightly as Brittany is pressed against her, Santana can feel her body stiffen as she utters the same question she'd asked upon meeting Brittany so many months ago. Brittany seems so confused, and Santana allows her a few seconds to sort out what has just happened.

Brittany's face falls, and Santana wants to feel even a little victorious.

She wants to feel sad or angry or bitter.

But all she feels is numb and empty.

Brittany's chin begins trembling again. Her face scrunches up, and she manages to rattle out a broken, "Santana," before sobs render her speechless and she buries her face in the space where Santana's shoulder meets her neck. She holds Santana tighter, like she might rip away from Brittany and never return.

The tears wetting Santana's neck run into the collar of her shirt.

She wishes she could feel _something_.

Brittany tilts her head, presses a wet kiss under Santana's ear, and whispers, "Please."

Santana exhales evenly through her nose and fights the nervous urge to clasp her hands in front of her. Brittany rests her forehead against Santana's temple, and Santana can hear and feel her ragged breathing. "What would you have me do?" She repeats, enunciating every word. Brittany's head shakes violently against her temple, and Santana pulls away from her a bit before adding, "Mistress."

"No," Brittany mutters. She grabs Santana's head and rains kisses all over Santana's face, repeating the word. "No, no, no, no, no." Finally, she presses frantic lips to Santana's.

As her lips slide over Santana's, Santana doesn't kiss back.

It all seems so wrong.

Feeling _anything_ would be better than this persistent, aching emptiness.

Brittany tears her mouth from Santana's, gasping around another sob. "Santana." She lays her forehead against Santana's and brushes her nose to Santana's, an act that would leave Santana smiling like an idiot in the past.

"I didn't mean it," Brittany whispers thickly. "I didn't – Santana, please. Please forgive me."

Santana ignores the way their eyelashes brush when Brittany's eyes flutter open, making her own lashes wet with Brittany's tears. Santana remains motionless. "What would yo-"

" _No_!" Santana thinks that Brittany meant to yell, but all that rips from her throat is another desperate sob, carrying the word over Santana, making her close her eyes tightly. "I…I had to," Brittany whispers through clenched teeth. "Santana, I had to say it like that. That's…that's what my dad understands. It's the only way I could make him see. Why can't you see that?" Her words have no effect on Santana, but Brittany keeps speaking. "He only understands property, Santana. He understands that Mike is a friend, that Puck is a friend, and Rachel, and Finn. But he doesn't understand that _you're_ a friend. That's you're…so much more than a friend. He sees you as property, and that was the only way that I could ever hope to get him to see that it was wrong to hit you."

Santana's eyes snap open and up to Brittany's face. "Well, we're not friends," she says, her voice low and measured. Brittany recoils quickly, as though the words had physically struck her.

Santana hopes they hurt, that they dig into Brittany, into the crevices of her brain. She hopes that Brittany won't be able to forget.

"Santana-"

"I'm a slave," Santana interrupts, her words harsh and penetrating. Brittany begins to shake her head again, but Santana plows on. "And you're a master. I was stupid to think that it could be any other way."

Brittany's mouth falls open slightly. She grips Santana's head harder, her eyes boring into Santana's, and for a fleeting moment, Santana feels a flash of fear; she'd forgotten that Brittany hates the word _stupid_ , that she'd been called that all through school. "Don't ever say that you're stupid, Santana. You are not stupid. You're smart and you're beautiful and you're funny." She whimpers as emotion threatens to take her ability to speak again. She looks so tired, Santana thinks, and she knows that she must not look any better. "And I love you, and I just wish I could make you see that.

 _I love you_. The words stir something deep in Santana, and she startles when a tear falls from her own eye and lands on her cheek. Those words have only been said a handful of times between them, and always with such conviction that it never failed to make Santana's heart swell with happiness and safety and love. She feels it happening now, her heart swelling almost painfully, but not in the good way that she's become accustomed to.

She had seen it. She had seen so much love in Brittany's eyes when they looked at each other, love that she had known was reflected in her own eyes.

That had been the problem, she thinks. She'd fallen too quickly. She'd listened to the charm of a beautiful woman, let her guard down, and look where it's gotten her.

Right back to being a slave.

She's come full circle, and she hadn't even seen it coming until these last few moments.

Brittany swipes her thumbs over Santana's cheeks, catching her tears before they can reach her chin. The beginnings of a smile blossoms on Brittany's face, but it's gone almost as quickly as it had begun to appear. Santana's only staring at her blankly, as though waiting for orders.

Santana knows that she doesn't need to open her mouth for Brittany to hear her echoed words. Brittany's hands slide from Santana's face dejectedly and tangle in her own hair. "God _dammit_ ," she hisses quietly, and the sudden curse shocks Santana slightly. Brittany turns from her and presses the heels of her hands into her eyes roughly. "You're being stubborn," she mumbles to the door.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," Santana says clearly, then falls quiet once again.

Brittany turns to her, eyes drawn into narrow slits. "Santana," she says lowly. "Please. Stop this. You know that you…" Santana remains stoic, and Brittany trails off. She sighs and gestures towards the bed. "Let's just…go to bed. We can talk in the morning."

She breezes past Santana and climbs into the bed. She holds the blankets up, silently asking Santana to join her as she has countless nights before. Santana stays rooted to her spot.

" _Santana_ ," Brittany begs, her eyes beginning to tear up again.

Santana swallows and moves forward slowly.

But instead of crawling into bed beside Brittany, she flops to the floor beside the bed and curls up on her side, facing the window.

"Really?" Brittany's exasperated voice comes from above.

Santana folds her hands under her head and closes her eyes. "Goodnight, Mistress."

She hears Brittany sigh sadly, then the light shuts off.

"Goodnight, San."

Santana's lip trembles slightly. She takes a deep breath, and wills herself into slumber.

\-----

A bright glow wakes Santana, and she cracks her eyes open slowly. A blanket has been placed over her carefully, and Brittany has managed, somehow, to get a pillow under her head without waking her.

She raises her head slightly, eyes narrowed at the source of light. Brittany is sitting at her desk, laptop open. From Santana's angle, she can just barely see Puck's face on the screen.

"She hates me," Brittany whispers. A sob rips through her, and she drops her face into her hands as her shoulders shake. "I don't know what to do."

"Can I be honest?" Despite seeing Puck's helpless frown, it's Kurt's voice that Santana hears, sounding farther away. "It was…well, it was rude."

After a bit of hesitation, Puck nods, and Brittany sobs harder. Santana's frown deepens at the sound. "Britt, babe," Puck says softly. "We make it a point to not call them slaves for a reason. I get why you said it – your dad is fuckin' nuts, by the way – but you have to see Santana's side, too."

Santana pulls her lips into her mouth. She's thankful that someone finally sees her side of this mess.

Kurt comes into view and helps himself to a seat on Puck's lap. "If Noah had said something like that, I would be in shock. Give her some time. She needs to process. She'll come around, but until then, you need to back off a little bit."

Brittany sniffles pitifully, and Santana's heart clenches. "She said that we're not friends," she chokes out, and Santana thinks that that had probably been the hardest thing for Brittany to hear. Of all the things said, that sentence had hurt Brittany the most.

She thought that she'd be proud that she made Brittany feel even a fraction of what she'd felt earlier, but Santana only feels her own hurt grow.

She wishes she could take back wanting to feel something as a tear hits her pillow.

She'd said so many hurtful things.

"Britt…" She hears Puck say, but he trails off, and it's obvious that he feels no small amount of awkwardness from this situation. He's a physical person, comforting better with touch than with words; he's miles away, unable to hold Brittany like he's used to doing when her heart is breaking.

"It's so hard," Brittany whines. Her voice is so thick that her words are barely discernable, and Santana thinks she sees Puck drop his forehead to Kurt's shoulder blade for one brief instance. "She just kept staring at me, Puck. Like she was…waiting for me to tell her what to do, and I just kept thinking back to when we first met, how she kept her eyes on the floor and kept calling me _Mistress_." Brittany says the word like its bile stuck to the back of her tongue, and Santana feels another stab of guilt. "It was like my Santana was gone. And the only thing left was a shell."

Brittany looks back at her, and Santana slams her eyes closed.

That's exactly what she had felt like. A shell. She'd felt like the person she'd been when she first came to the Pierce household. Before she met Brittany.

It had scared her, and only now does she realize that that's why she'd said the things she'd said, done the things she'd done.

She had been so afraid of going back that she had forced herself into that role.

Brittany whimpers, and Santana chances to open her eyes. Brittany's face is in her hands again, and she forces out, "I messed up so bad."

Santana jams her tongue to the roof of her mouth and presses her blanket covered fist to her mouth; she feels a sob just in the back of her throat, but if she lets it out she'll alert Brittany.

She's not ready to talk yet. She wants to jump up and apologize, to tell Brittany that she loves her, that she forgives her, that she didn't mean anything she said. But it's too soon, the wound is too raw, and they haven't even recovered from the first disagreement they had.

They both need a little more time.

"Babe," Puck cuts in again. "It will be okay. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Brittany says miserably. She sounds so exhausted.

"Have I ever lied to you?" He sounds just as exhausted as Brittany, and Santana remembers stories of Brittany calling Puck in the middle of the night after her mom died, just to hear someone's voice. She remembers Brittany telling her that no matter how tired Puck was, or what he had to do the next day, he would stay on the line with her, talking or singing until she stopped crying and drifted to sleep.

If anyone is going to take care of Brittany when she can't, Santana's glad its Puck.

"Why don't you bring her to Rachel's soon?" Kurt proposes, and _fuck_ , that is the exact opposite of where Santana will want to be in the coming days, but she won't fight it if Brittany asks. "We could all talk to her…if you want?"

Santana wants Brittany to tell him no. She doesn't need to hold hands with the other slaves and sing Kumbaya. She needs to hold hands with Brittany while they sit and sort out their shit.

Brittany sighs. "We'll see," she says reluctantly.

She says her goodbyes to Kurt and Puck and closes her computer. In the darkness, Santana knows she doesn't need to close her eyes, and she watches the outline of Brittany draw near.

Brittany stops beside Santana's makeshift bed and kneels. Carefully, she places her hands on either side of Santana, and leans down to press a quick kiss to her temple. Her lips are replaced by her forehead for a moment as she simply revels in being close to Santana.

"I love you," she says softly, then lays another kiss on Santana's cheek.

Her shuddering breath breaks Santana's restraint, she lunges forward and grabs at the front of Brittany's shirt, clutching at it for dear life.

Brittany gasps and freezes, and Santana wishes they could see each other's faces. "Santana?" She whispers.

Santana doesn't answer. She releases Brittany's shirt and fumbles around Brittany's torso until she finds her arm. Her hand smoothes down until she reaches Brittany's wrist, and she tugs gently and lifts up her blanket.

Brittany doesn't hesitate to crawl beside Santana, and Santana doesn't resist when Brittany pulls her in close so their fronts are pressed together tightly and they're sharing a single pillow. Their foreheads come together, and their noses brush again.

This time, Santana allows a small smile. Brittany wraps her arms around Santana tightly, and Santana falls asleep to gentle kisses on her face and murmured _I love you_ s.

\-----

Breakfast is unbelievably awkward.

Shannon lays a hand on Santana's shoulder when Brittany's back is turned, silently expressing her concern. Santana lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug, and prays that Shannon hadn't somehow heard anything that was said last night in Brittany's room.

Santana feels terrible about the argument, the words said, and to top it off she's got a kink in her lower back the size of Lima.

Overall, Santana feels pretty shitty.

But at least Pierce is still gone.

The last thing any of them needs is round two.

Santana takes her bowl of dry cereal to the table and sits heavily across from Brittany. She stares into the bowl, completely emotionally drained, and makes no attempt to reach for the milk container in the middle of the table.

She's not hungry. All she wants is to go back to bed and sleep for a few more hours.

Maybe then she'll be more ready, more willing, to face the challenges ahead of her.

She has to apologize to Brittany.

They have to sit and talk about all of this. Brittany is a huge believer in communication, and Santana knows that talking about this, listening to Brittany…it's the least she can do. And Brittany needs to hear how she felt last night, too.

Santana jerks when she feels a socked foot brush her ankle, and her eyes snap up. Brittany's looking at her, her eyes full of love, concern, sorrow, regret…there are so many emotions flashing through Brittany's eyes, Santana feels momentarily overwhelmed with them all.

She offers Brittany a tight lipped smile, then reaches for the milk. Shannon sits just as she's replacing the cap, and Santana can tell that it's killing her to not inquire about last night.

"You guys have any plans for the day?" She asks cautiously instead, blowing over the top of her coffee, and Santana appreciates her efforts to not meddle.

She appreciates that Shannon sees them both as mature, adult individuals.

Santana pushes her cereal around the bowl, and Brittany shrugs. "We might go to Rachel's later," she mumbles behind her orange juice glass. She brushes her foot against Santana's ankle again to regain her attention. When she has it, she says, "If you want to."

She doesn't want to. It's the last place she wants to be. She doesn't need Kurt – or anyone else that he or Puck have told – to tell her that everything will be okay in time.

She _knows_ that.

She and Brittany will work this out. There is no doubt.

It's getting from here to there that is going to be difficult.

Santana doesn't want to hurt anymore. She doesn't want to feel hollow and empty, and she doesn't want to feel angry and exhausted and endlessly sad.

She just wants to be happy again. She wants to go back to being so happy, so content with her life – with _their_ life – that she could burst from it all.

But she's going to hurt again. They're going to talk, and they're going to get through this, but along the way they're going to have to hurt some more.

She wishes that they could skip that part entirely.

Brittany brushes her ankle, more firmly this time, and Santana shakes herself mentally, realizing that she'd gotten lost in her thoughts so completely that she'd forgotten to answer Brittany.

The corner of Santana's mouth lifts a tad before falling once again. "Whatever you want," she mutters, because she can't fucking say _no_ to Brittany.

But Brittany frowns deeply, and retracts her foot from where it had been resting comfortably against Santana's. "Santana," she sighs sadly, and Santana can hear the hint of tears as her eyes fall to the table. Beside them, Shannon quirks an eyebrow.

Santana hurries to reach across the table and take Brittany's hand, because the last thing she needs or wants is for Brittany to think that she was trying to take another _Mistress_ jab at her. Brittany lifts her head slightly. "Really," Santana says with as much sincerity as her aching heart can muster. "I'm okay with whatever you want to do, Britt." Her skin burns where it touches Brittany's hand, and she tries to pull back, but Brittany's fingers tighten around her own, and Santana leaves her hand where it is.

Brittany still doesn't look entirely convinced.

Santana's too tired to assure her further.

\-----

To Santana's chagrin, they end up in the car two hours later bound for Rachel's. The ride is torturously silent, and Santana is careful to keep her hands in her lap the entire time.

When they enter Rachel's basement, Brittany steals away to the corner with her friends, surprising a total of zero people, and Santana sulks to the opposite side of the room.

The only available seat is beside Kurt – something that he has obviously meticulously planned – but Sam sees the apprehension on her face and immediately vacates the beanbag chair he's lounging in, and Santana drops into it quickly, shooting him a grateful smile. He winks and sits next to her, his shoulder brushing her knee.

Santana lets her head loll back, fully intent on going to sleep. Quinn, however, has different plans for her. "So, Santana," she says conversationally, and Santana has no idea where her train of thought is heading, but she knows she doesn't want to hear it, whatever it is.

She doesn't bother to pick her head up as she holds up her hand, halting Quinn's next words. "Fabray, please," she says lowly. "Just leave me alone."

From the corner of her eye, she can see one of Kurt's perfectly sculpted eyebrows raise. "Santana, may I speak with you?"

Santana lifts her head. "Kurt-" she tries, but he speaks over her, his words directed at Quinn.

"Can we go upstairs for a minute?"

Quinn nods, and Santana rolls her eyes. "Sure, take all the time you need," she says pointedly, before rising and sauntering over to Rachel, no doubt to let her know what is happening.

Kurt rises and reaches for Santana, but she moves away and throws her head back again moodily. She _just_ sat down and this bean bag chair is so fucking comfortable.

Kurt reaches for her again, and Santana stands and stomps past him and to the basement stairs. She catches Brittany's worried gaze from the corner of her eye and resolutely ignores it.

She just wants to fucking sleep a little bit longer.

When she enters Rachel's house, she's startled to see two men at the island in the kitchen, eating brunch.

Rachel's dads. She's heard Rachel go on and on about her _two gay dads_ in the past, but this is the first time she's seen them. She's worrying over what their stance on slavery is when they both flash her and Kurt large, toothy grins. Santana looks back at Kurt, who is waving, and follows his lead with a raised hand. Kurt takes the opportunity to grip her wrist tightly and haul her to the living room for some privacy.

She struggles against him a bit, and he releases her testily. She moves to put the width of the coffee table between them. Kurt crosses his arms at the move, and she mirrors his stance petulantly. "Santana."

The effort she puts forth to not roll her eyes physically pains her, and Santana says, "I don't want to hear it."

Kurt's hands find his hips. "You don't have to be so rude to Quinn – or me, for that matter. She doesn't know anything. Noah and I are the only ones who know anything."

"I don't care," she says quietly, so as not to disturb or alert Rachel's dads.

"Santana," he repeats in a rather reprimanding tone.

Santana grits her teeth; two can play that game. "I don't want to hear it," she says again.

Finally, Kurt sighs and raises a hand to rub at his forehead. "Brittany didn't mean it."

Santana throws her hands in the air. "Don’t you think I know that? Her dad is psycho. The only way she could make him understand that hitting me is wrong is to explain it in terms of property. _I get it_. But you know what, Kurt? It hurt regardless." She presses the tips of her fingers to her sternum. "It hurt to the core of my existence, Kurt. For a few seconds, I felt like I couldn't breathe, and I swear to god, I didn't think that I ever would again." She squeezes her eyes closed tightly as she feels the threat of tears. She presses her palms over her eyes for a couple of seconds, until she's sure she can face Kurt without crying, and when she lowers her hands, she's surprised to find that Kurt has rounded the table and is now beside her. She takes a deep breath, and finishes what she was saying. "So I made myself numb. So I wouldn't feel. But then I wished I _could_ feel and…god, it was a mess. I was…so scared."

Kurt reaches up a hesitant hand, then drops it again as he reconsiders touching her. "Brittany Skyped Noah last night after you fell asleep," he says instead. "She was a mess." It's almost as if he's trying to make her feel guilty. She already does, though, so she gets angry instead.

"I know," she says sharply. "I woke up. I saw her. I heard her. I witnessed it _before_ she called you two. I already feel like shit, so don't try to make me feel guilty. God, I thought you were on my team."

Kurt lays a hand on his chest, looking one hundred percent insulted. "I'm on team Brittana!" He exclaims in a dramatic hushed whisper. He manages to look more scandalized than anyone Santana has ever seen, and she narrows her eyes at the foreign name. "You know," he says at her obvious confusion. " _Brit_ tany. San _tana_. _Brittana_." He pushes his hands together in a smashing motion, and when her expression doesn't change, he huffs and stomps his foot. "Fine, whatever. The point is, you need to talk to Brittany."

"I will!" Santana huffs out, a bit louder than necessary, adding her own foot stomp for good measure. "Later! Right now, all I want to do is take a nap." She reaches down to massage her lower back as she's reminded of the twinge she feels there; god, she'd slept terribly.

Sleeping on the floor was _not_ a good idea.

"Santana, I don't think sleeping will solve anything."

"Um, _I think_ it will solve the problem I seem to be having," she says, adding a little extra attitude for emphasis. She draws a circle in the air around her face with her index finger. "D'you see this? This is the definition of cranky. Seriously, look that up in the dictionary and the entire page will be a picture of this." She gestures at her entire body with an open hand.

Kurt manages to hold a serious face for a couple of seconds longer before he chuckles and pulls her into a tight hug. She lets out an _oomph_ , and Kurt says, "Okay, maybe being less of a grumpy pants will help."

Santana grunts; the phrase _grumpy pants_ is officially only adorable coming from Brittany.

Kurt pulls away and opens his mouth, but she silences him with a hand. "Please don't tell me that it'll be okay," she pleads. "I know that it will. I don't need to hear that."

It's obviously what he was going to say and he seems to have no other words in his repertoire, so he hugs her again briefly before they set off to return to the basement.

Someone has put a slow song on the stereo and dimmed the lights. Most of their friends are paired up, swaying to the music.

Rachel is wrapped around Quinn while the blonde completely forgets to act like she hates it. Rachel appears to be singing softly – of course – and Quinn smiles against Rachel's hair as she holds her.

Sam and Mercedes appear to be in deep conversation while they dance.

Tina and Artie laugh as they make do with what they can; they don't seem to be hindered by Artie's wheelchair.

Playfully, Puck is holding Mike's head to his chest tightly, his eyes closed and nose held in the air dramatically; beside them, Finn is pinching the bridge of his nose, but he is clearly amused by their antics. Kurt leaves Santana's side to join them, and her eyes search the room for the one person that seems to be missing from the dancing crowd.

Brittany is standing by the door of the entry way, leaning against the wall. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her – a habit that she seems to be picking up from Santana – as she watches the other couples dancing happily.

As her eyes sweep the room, they land on Santana and brighten considerably.

Santana makes her way over and stops in front of Brittany, just out of arms reach. "Hey," she says quietly.

"Hi." Brittany's eyes sweep the room once more quickly and she pushes off the wall. "Will you dance with me?" She asks hopefully, outstretching her hand.

Santana chews her lip before saying, "Brittany," in a tone that suggests that she's about to disappoint Brittany by saying _no_ , but Brittany looks so dejected that she changes her mind instantly and slips her hand into Brittany's.

She can't deny Brittany anything.

Brittany leads her a little further from the door before wrapping her arms around Santana's waist, her hands joined loosely at the small of Santana's back. Santana rests her hands lightly on Brittany's upper arms, fingers curling around them gently. They sway together for the remainder of the song, staring everywhere but at each other's face.

When the next song starts, Brittany breaks the awkward silence. "Santana…"

Santana closes her eyes for a second before opening them to look at Brittany. "Britt," she whispers, and Brittany has to lean in to hear her. "I'm not ready to talk," she admits. "I just…not yet. Please."

Brittany's frown deepens, her eyes conveying the sadness she's feeling inside. She brings a hand up to caress Santana's cheek with the backs of her fingers. Santana leans into the touch, hoping Brittany doesn't push her need to talk; Santana knows she'll either break or close herself off again. "You look so tired," Brittany whispers brokenly. "I'm so sorry I did this to you."

Santana shakes her head slightly. "Brittany, _please_." But how can Brittany know what Santana wants when Santana herself doesn't even know?

Brittany inhales sharply and withdraws her hand to press her fingers to her eyes to stave off her tears; Santana misses the touch immediately. "Can you just…can you tell me one thing?" Santana swallows the lump in her throat. She doesn't trust herself to speak, so she taps Brittany's arm lightly to gain her attention. When she has it, she nods, and Brittany continues. "Why didn't you tell me what he did?"

Santana smiles sadly and moves her hands to smooth across Brittany's shoulders. "Because I knew it would make you hate him. You already refuse to look at him, and you can't stand to be in a room with him. I didn't want to be the thing that made that worse," she confesses.

Brittany's lip trembles and she pulls Santana closer. She kisses the round of Santana's cheek, then presses another to the shell of her ear, whispering, "Oh, San."

Santana winds her arms around Brittany's neck and holds her close. She inhales deeply, happy for a moment to just be near Brittany, in her arms, and she moves impossibly closer, seeking as much contact as she can. "Can we go home?" She breathes out. "I'm just…so tired. And my back hurts and…I'll be ready to talk after I sleep a little more. I promise."

Brittany immediately jumps to let her go upon hearing that her back hurts, and Santana offers her a smile to tell her that it's okay. Brittany smiles back. "Whatever you want, San."

\-----

Santana doesn't even make it home; she slumps against the door, fast asleep, and has to be carried to the couch by Brittany.

She wakes up when Brittany begins removing her shoes. Then, she covers Santana with a blanket, kisses her forehead, and promises to be back "in a minute".

Santana is gone again somewhere between the blanket and the kiss.

\-----

When she wakes, the living room is a bit darker, but the sun has yet to set completely. She stands and stretches; the kink in her back is gone and she feels so much more rested. She's ready to sit down and talk.

The only thing missing is Brittany.

Santana pads to the kitchen and frowns; Shannon is pacing and wringing her hands.

"Where's Brittany?"

Shannon jumps, having not noticed that Santana is awake. She stops pacing, but her hands continue to twist together nervously. "I'm not sure," she says, eye dancing frantically. "Rachel called an hour ago. She sounded…well, okay, she sounded like Rachel, but when they hung up, Brittany rushed out and didn't say where she was going. She seemed…flustered. Agitated. I called her cell phone and she didn't answer, so I called Rachel's. Leroy – her dad – answered." Shannon takes a shaky breath. "They haven't seen her, and Rachel left in a similar state as Britt. She didn't say a word to Leroy or Hiram, or Quinn for that matter."

Santana begins to fidget. It's not like Brittany to leave without telling Shannon where she's going. "She, uh…she didn't say anything?"

Shannon shakes her head. "I was going to give her another hour before I call Brian. There's no need in…" She trails off, but Santana knows what she means. There's no need in involving him unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Okay, well." Santana breathes in deeply through her nose, trying to quell her worry and fear, pushing back the panic attack she can feel coming on. There's no way anything could have happened. Not to Brittany. It couldn't be possible. "I wonder what she could have been so…upset about?"

Shannon shakes her hands out in front of her and says, "Well, I don't think she was upset. Just…maybe excited is the wrong word, but that's almost what it was. Excited but not…happy?"

Santana doesn't think Shannon is speaking to her anymore, so to draw her attention back, she says, "Okay, well…we'll just have to occupy ourselves until she gets back and enlightens us." _Or just for an hour_. When they'll need to involve Pierce.

Santana prays it won't come to that.

Shannon nods and looks around for something to do. "Are you hungry?" She's not, but Santana nods anyway; she wants to give Shannon any excuse to busy herself, so if it means choking down a grilled cheese or two, she'll do it. Shannon's eyes light up for a moment. "Great! Okay. Good. I'll…start dinner." She looks around again. "Oh! Can you take the garbage out?"

Santana gathers the bag in her hands and hurries to the backyard; she needs a minute to freak out without worrying Shannon more.

She deposits the bag in the bin and crouches beside the steps, just out of Shannon's sight.

She holds her head in her hands and breathes in deeply before releasing it slowly.

Okay. So Brittany is potentially missing.

Okay.

 _Deep breaths, Santana_.

She has to get this out before she returns to the kitchen. She can't go back hysterical. They have to stay calm. It won't help them or Brittany if they collapse into quivering puddles.

An engine rumbles in the driveway on the other side of the house, and Santana perks up until she realizes that the engine sounds decidedly different than the engine of Brittany's car.

Pierce.

The air leaves Santana's lungs.

What is he going to do when they can't tell him where his daughter is?

He'll be so fucking furious; Santana begins to tremble at the thought of the rage she's likely about to witness.

She listens for the slam of the front door, then counts slowly to ten before making her way back into the house.

Shannon is leaning heavily on the counter when she returns, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

Pierce is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, glaring at Santana. He's pale, and looks like he's coming off an exceptionally powerful hangover. But he looks angry as ever.

In his hand, he holds a brand new collar and leash, and a set of zip ties.

Santana's face falls.

She knows what this means.

Her time with Brittany is over.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the epilogue – so if you're worried about loose ends, stay tuned. Almost finished, guys!

They stare at each other across the room, each daring the other to make the first move.

Santana refuses to budge.

If Pierce wants her, he'll have to come to her.

"Brian," Shannon begs. She pushes off of the counter and steps up to Santana's side. She stops slightly in front of Santana, shielding the smaller woman. "Brian, don't do this."

Her words spur him to move, and he takes long strides towards them. "Move." He jerks his head to the side, emphasizing his words. Santana's trembling, but she tries to nudge Shannon away; the woman is bigger and stronger, and easily stands her ground.

She can't stand the thought of him hurting Shannon again. "Shannon, please," she says quietly.

"Brian, what are you doing?" Shannon asks. Santana wraps her fist in the back of Shannon's shirt and tugs, but Shannon plows on, ignoring her. "Just stop and think about this."

Pierce's nostrils flare a bit. "Get out of my way, Shannon."

Shannon takes a step towards him, her hands outstretched pleadingly, ignoring the way that Santana's hand tightens in her shirt in a feeble attempt to hold her back. Santana wonders if at one point Pierce had been the sort of man who could be easily calmed with soothing words and gentle touches, because Shannon seems to be trying to reach a part of him that she feels is buried deep inside, just begging to be dug out. "Please, Brian. Just-"

"This is what Brittany wants," Pierce says forcefully, and Shannon and Santana still. Shannon glances over her shoulder to gage Santana's reaction.

Santana's face hardens. If he thinks that she's going to believe for even a second that Brittany wants to get rid of her, he's dead wrong.

They may have had some major disagreements over the past couple of days, but she knows that Brittany loves her. She would never do this to Santana.

She sees Shannon's head shake. "That's crazy," she whispers, and Santana can hear the desperation in her words. "Britt wouldn't-"

Her words are cut off when Pierce's hand flies up, connecting with her face with so much force that she drops to the floor; it happened so fast, Santana isn't sure whether he slapped her or punched her.

"Shannon!" She cries. She attempts to drop to her knees to tend to her friend, but Pierce grips the front of her hoodie tightly in his fist, preventing her from moving. She struggles against him, but he drops everything in his hands to the table to hold her with both hands.

"Stay still!" He hisses, and she immediately complies, fearing that if she doesn't, he'll hurt Shannon further. He looks down to Shannon, still cradling her jaw on the floor, and says, "And you stay there, or you're gone too!"

Santana doesn't believe him, and she hopes Shannon doesn't either, but she still begs her with her eyes to stay put; this is her battle, and if Pierce wants this, the only person that can stop it is Brittany.

Wherever she is.

When Pierce seems satisfied that Santana won't move, he releases her hoodie and reaches for the zip ties. "Santana," Shannon mumbles thickly. "Run. Get out of here!" Santana's hands quake, her eyes widen, and she shakes her head shallowly at Shannon; if she runs, Pierce would definitely catch her, and even on the off chance that he didn't, she can't bear the thought of what he would do to Shannon.

"Shut up, Shannon," Pierce warns. He threads the zip ties together to make them long enough, then looks at her expectantly. Santana meets his eyes and waits.

Maybe he's bluffing, trying to scare her.

Maybe Brittany will walk through the door.

Maybe-

Santana exhales slowly through her nose and holds her hands up, the insides of her wrists pressed together.

"Santana, _no_!" Shannon wails.

"I swear to god," Pierce mumbles as he encircles Santana's wrists with the zip ties and draws them closed, way tighter than necessary.

"Shannon," Santana whispers, her eyes only leaving Pierce long enough to catch Shannon's gaze. "It's okay."

Brittany's going to walk through the door at any moment.

She has to.

Shannon opens her mouth to argue, but Santana shakes her head. "Please," she adds. This time her eyes don't leave Pierce. "You need to stay here. Someone has to protect Brittany."

Pierce's hand is around her throat instantly. "What did you just say?"

Santana sneers at him. She's beyond being afraid. Now she's just angry. "You heard me," she rasps out of her constricted throat.

He releases her immediately, but she doesn't have time to draw a breath; his palm hits her cheek solidly and her head snaps around viciously. She stumbles a bit and grunts, but refuses to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

He grabs the front of her hoodie long enough to stand her up straight again, then reaches for the collar and leash.

Shannon sobs as he snaps the collar - marginally looser than the first collar he'd outfitted her with and a million times cleaner, thankfully - around Santana's neck. "Brian, _please_ ," she tries one last time. "Please, think of Brittany."

He whirls around, and Shannon cowers away from his feet, fearing he'll start kicking at her. "I am!" He bellows. "I fucking told you, this is what she wants!"

"Did she tell you that?" Santana asks lowly, her cheek stinging. Pierce turns back to her. "Were those her words? _Sell Santana_?"

He doesn't answer her. He attaches the leash to the collar and tugs her forward with an aggressive jerk.

She begins to panic; once he leaves the house with her, it will be significantly harder for Brittany to find them and stop this.

She stumbles over her bare feet and looks down to Shannon with wild eyes. "Find her," she begs hoarsely. "Shannon, find Brittany, _please_."

Brian drags her through the house, moving so fast that her feet can barely keep up. She wraps her hands around the point where the leash connects to the collar, attempting to create some slack for herself, and looks forlornly at her shoes – which are still sitting by the couch where Brittany had put them – as they pass the living room.

Pierce flings the front door open, and is so intent on getting her to the car that he neglects to close it behind them. He pulls her to his car, opens the back door, and shoves her in. She barely manages not to clip her forehead on the way in and pull her feet in before he slams the door.

Santana pushes herself up into a sitting position and pivots her head to look out of the back window, searching for any signs of headlights approaching the driveway.

What could Brittany be doing to keep her away for so long? Had she left something at Rachel's and gotten caught up talking to her friends again? Is she in trouble?

Pierce doesn't seem concerned with her whereabouts. Does that mean he's done something to keep her away?

Pierce jumps in and starts the car. He backs out of the driveway and heads down the road.

Santana remains quiet, her desperate eyes searching every car that passes them, hoping to spot Brittany.

"This is what Brittany wants," Pierce repeats unprompted after a short time, and she realizes that he hadn't put her in the trunk because he wants to torment her with his words.

Santana shakes her head and chuckles humorlessly, but refuses to halt her search to look at him. "You're such a lying piece of shit."

Pierce's knuckles turn white, the vein in his temple making an appearance, and Santana knows that if he could hit her right now, he would. "And you're a slave." It's a low blow, and Santana feels it in every part of her. "So guess which one of us is still the winner. You came into this family, and you tore it apart-"

Santana finally tears her eyes away from the road to gape at him. "Um, excuse me," she interrupts his rant. She holds her bound hands up and sticks her index finger in the air. "I didn't _just come_ into this family. _You_ brought me into it when you paid thirty thousand dollars for me."

"Wasted money," he mumbles, shaking his head.

Her eyes widen. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Brittany, your _daughter_ , your only child, is happy. Isn't that what you wanted?"

His face crumples for a moment, startling her, but as quickly as it happened, his scowl is back in place. "I do want her to be happy," he admits quietly. "But I don't want her to hate me anymore."

"If you sell me, that's exactly what will happen," she tries to reason with him. "Look at how mad she was last night when she found out that you hit me weeks ago. If you do this, she will never speak to you again. Is that what you want?"

He remains quiet for a moment. She leans forward anxiously, hoping that she's finally getting through to him. She's about to open her mouth to tell him that Brittany doesn't have to know about this, she won't breathe a word about it, when his face hardens completely again.

"You made her hate me," he says. She shakes her head violently in denial, wanting desperately to tell him that Brittany hasn't been fond of him for a very long time. How had she lost the upper hand in the conversation so quickly? "This is what she wants." And Santana thinks that he might actually believe his own words.

She collapses back into her seat. "What were you going to do tonight if she had been home? Or if we'd both been gone? Would you and I be here now?"

He grunts, expressing his annoyance at her questioning. "You couldn't have been with her 24/7. I would have waited. Luckily I didn't have to."

_Yeah_ , she thinks as she stares out the window again. _So lucky_.

It's not until they pull into the parking lot of the Lima Auction House and Pierce rips her from the car that it really sinks in and she begins losing hope.

This is actually going to happen.

Pierce is going to sell her.

There's already a crowd of buyers forming outside the doors; Santana doesn't recognize any of the faces she sees as Pierce forces her through the crowd, but she can distinctly hear Sue Sylvester's megaphone in the distance.

Most of the people in the crowd ignore them, but a fair amount allow their eyes to wander, assessing Santana's worth.

Her cheeks burn; the familiar feeling of shame settles in.

Pierce leads her to the back of the building. There are already three lines; one leading from the slave farm truck to the check-in table, one of Masters who are selling, and one leading from the check-in table to the clothing bin off to the side.

Pierce steps up to the Master line and elbows his way in front of a handful of people; they open their mouths to protest, but when they lay eyes on Pierce's infamous face, they all think better of it.

This line is considerably shorter than the others, and Santana's stomach churns at how quickly she'll likely go through inspection.

The sun has set completely by the time they reach the front of the line. Pierce pulls what she suspects are her ownership papers from his pocket and hands them to the man behind the table. The man inspects them, copying information from them to another paper on his clipboard. Suddenly he stops, his head remaining down as his eyes snap up to Pierce. "Sir, I'm sorry but there seems to be a problem."

Pierce smiles tightly. "I'm sure you're mistaken."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but your name clearly isn't-"

Pierce slams his hand down on the table, and the man doesn't even flinch. "It's taken care of," he says.

The man exhales, clearly aggravated. "Sir, unless your name is Britt-"

"I told you," Pierce hisses, his jaw set. "It's. Taken. Care. Of."

This time the man's exhales sounds more like a growl, and Santana's gaze snaps between them, confused.

What is going on?

Pierce and the man stare at each other for long seconds before the man rolls his eyes and asks, "Reason for selling?"

Pierce relaxes and laughs lowly. He reaches across to grab her by the front of her hoodie and tangles the fingers of his other hand in her hair to yank her head up. It's unexpected, and she can't hold in her cry of pain. A couple of people around them snicker. "Look at her," Pierce says. "I'm tired of her. I want something different."

The man looks unimpressed by Pierce's attempts at humor. He nods once, jots something on his paper, then staples it to the papers Pierce had handed him. He slides the papers back to Pierce and gives Santana a once over. He gestures to the clothing bin. "Since it's already fully clothed, get it some shoes, then step inside for inspection," he says, his tone indicating that he's bored with Pierce. "Next!"

She doesn't expect Pierce to actually stop at the bin for shoes, so she's surprised when he pushes to the front of the line and demands to be helped. After a few seconds, he's handed two mismatched flip flops. He drops them to the ground and orders her into them before continuing to the backdoor.

Santana looks around at the other slaves in the lines, making sure not to make eye contact with any Masters. All of these slaves look so broken, a lot of them bruised or bloodied.

Is this how she used to look?

It's been so many months, she can hardly remember.

She just hopes Brittany gets here in time to stop that from becoming her again.

\-----

Brittany is so giddy she can barely sit still long enough to drive.

She's got a bouquet of white and pink roses for Shannon, a bouquet of red and purple roses for Santana, and each has a single yellow rose tucked right into the middle.

And of course the two thick manila envelopes. She can't forget those.

Everything is in order. After months of researching, making phone calls, visiting city hall and courthouses, and a lot of heartache one night when they thought their efforts had been wasted…the only thing missing is two signatures.

Her cell phone buzzes in her lap, but she doesn't need to glance down to know who it is.

Shannon. Brittany smiles and lets the call go to voicemail. She'd left the house in such a rush, she hadn't been able to tell Shannon anything about where she was going – partly because she was way too excited and partly because it was the biggest fucking secret Brittany had ever kept in her life – and Shannon had been calling her since she'd left the house.

The amount of calls she's received have almost tripled in the last forty-five minutes, but she had stopped at the florist for the roses, and she knew if she answered her phone, she would probably blow her surprise before she even got home.

No, she's been waiting for this for far too long – since March when Rachel had first cooked up what had, at the time, been a _ridiculous_ plan – to screw this up. She has to make sure everything is perfect; Shannon and Santana deserve everything she can possibly give them.

The trouble she's bound to be in when she gets home will be totally worth it when she sees the looks on Shannon and Santana's faces.

The two people who mean more to her than anything in the world.

The two people she's been risking _everything_ for.

Brittany smiles as she thinks of how drastically her life has changed since she and her friends first started this endeavor; they never imagined it would lead them all here.

She's still bouncing in her seat when she pulls into her driveway. The front door is wide open, and Lord Tubbington is sitting on the front step.

It's really odd, since the sun had set at least an hour ago, but Brittany doesn't let it dampen her amazing mood; Shannon probably left it open to hear her when she pulled in.

She skips to the door, flowers and envelopes in hand. Tubbs seems agitated, and when she tries to scratch his chin, he snaps at her and runs into the house. She pulls her hand back quickly, and follows her cat, shutting the door behind her. That's strange, she thinks. Tubbs loves having his chin scratched. Brittany shrugs to herself. Whatever.

The couch is empty, Santana's shoes still sitting where Brittany had left them when she took them off of Santana. That means Santana is probably in the kitchen with Shannon; she hopes Santana is keeping Shannon calm. They've gotten really close, she knows, so if anyone can keep Shannon from killing her, it's Santana.

Or maybe they'll kill her together.

She smiles at the thought.

"Honeys, I'm home!" She sings loudly as she steps into the kitchen; she's already in trouble, why not make an entrance?

Shannon's head snaps up angrily; Brittany notes that she's been pacing by the stove, her face pale but with a distinguishable new bruise on her jaw, and her hands fisted in her hair. She can see that Shannon's eyes are red. She frowns; she hadn't meant to make Shannon cry.

Brittany opens her mouth to ask what happened to Shannon's jaw, but the woman's intense stare makes her close it immediately.

"Where have you been?"

Shannon's tone startles Brittany. She's never heard her mother-figure sound so livid, so…hateful. She couldn't possibly be that upset that Brittany was gone for a couple of hours. She has a penchant for losing things and getting lost, but she's still an adult.

"I met up with the guys," she says, vague and timid, as if she hadn't just come home from hanging out with her friends just minutes before rushing off again. She gestures at her armload. "I have a surprise for-"

"Yeah, well I have a surprise for _you_ , Brittany!"

Brittany jumps back; Shannon has never, ever yelled at her.

"Jeez, I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I know I left in a hurry and I know I made you worry, but-"

"Santana is gone."

Brittany feels the color drain from her face. Santana's gone? As in…"She ran away?"

Shannon's frown manages to deepen and she shakes her head. "No," she says sharply. She begins pacing again, and when she reaches the trash bin, she kicks it, sending it flying to bounce noisily off the far wall. Brittany jumps again, and Shannon whirls back to her. "Your dad took her."

Brittany lays all of her things on the table carefully, her knees trembling so badly she can barely support her own weight. "Took her?" She asks numbly.

"He's going to sell her, Brittany." Shannon's eyes spill over with fresh tears.

"Sell her?" Shannon nods, and Brittany shakes her head. "No," she says, backing into the hall. "No, you're lying." It has to be a joke. Punishment for leaving and staying out without calling. Punishment for accidentally calling Santana a slave. Punishment for denying her the one thing she'd wanted most, to be close to Brittany – the person she trusted more than anyone or anything else – in the most intimate of ways.

Brittany has done a lot of bad things the past week.

They're punishing her for it all.

She turns on her heel and shoots down the hall; she can hear Shannon chasing after her, but it doesn't matter. Santana is upstairs, hiding, laughing. She has to be. "Santana?" She yells, head turning to look up the stairs. When she gets no answer, she tries again, louder. "Santana! This isn't funny, San!"

Before she can start up the stairs, Shannon's arms wrap around her middle, holding her back. She struggles against the woman, and Shannon lifts her off the ground, taking away the leverage her dancer's legs give her. "Britt, stop."

Brittany sobs and claws at the air. "Let me go!" She screams. " _Please_ , I've learned my lesson, I won't do it again! Santana!"

Shannon slips an arm up to restrain her flailing arms. "This isn't a fucking game, Brittany! Santana isn't here. He took her. He took her away, Brittany! You have to calm down; this isn't going to help her. You have to go find her, Britt! Bring Santana _home_."

When she finally stops struggling, Shannon plants her on her feet, and Brittany shoves away from her with an angry howl; she'd been in such a great mood. Tonight was supposed to be special, and just like everything else in her life lately, her father has managed to ruin it.

She hurries back to the kitchen, vision blurry. She has to save Santana, but she has to do this too.

She might not have a chance to do it later.

She wipes her face angrily and picks up the pink and white bouquet of roses and the manila envelope with Shannon's name on it. "These are for you," she manages; her voice is thick with tears and sadness and anger, and she hopes that Shannon can still understand the words coming from her mouth. She lays the roses in Shannon's arms and holds up the envelope. "There are two sets of papers in here. One is just a copy of the other, but you need to sign both anyways, just in case."

"Britt?" Shannon draws her eyebrows together, her forehead wrinkled in confusion as she takes in the flowers.

"I don't have time to explain everything." And it sucks because she'd hand-picked the flowers personally. They have meanings, goddammit, and she can't even take the time to explain them. "Sign the papers, call Mike and explain what's happening, then pack your stuff. Mike will take you to Rachel's. Wait for us there."

Shannon's eyes widen, and Brittany can tell she doesn't understand anything that's happening. "Britt-"

Brittany crushes Shannon in a hug, not caring that she's smashing the beautiful flowers between them. She has to say this, then she has to rescue Santana; there isn't enough time. "Thank you for everything you've done for me. My whole life, but especially the last four years. I was a brat and gave you a hard time, and you still made time to tuck me in at night even when I acted like I didn't want you to. I hope this makes up for everything, or at least a little bit, because you're the best substitute mom I could have asked for." She presses a kiss to Shannon's newly wet cheek and pulls away.

"Britt-"

"I love you," Brittany says with as much sincerity as she can muster, her eyes never leaving Shannon's.

"I love you too, Britt, you know that," Shannon answers, still so obviously lost. She clutches the envelope in her hand tightly, but holds it slightly away from her body, like she's afraid it will spontaneously catch fire.

She doesn't know what's inside, but Brittany knows that it will all become clear when she reads the documents.

Brittany releases Shannon and picks up the rest of her things before she starts crying. She grabs Santana's shoes and runs from the house.

She has to save Santana.

\-----

Santana hadn't gotten through inspection as quickly as she'd assumed she would, but the process had still been a relatively fast, if completely invasive, process, as she didn't have any new scars to document and no bruising other than her slightly swollen cheek from Pierce's earlier slap.

The zip ties had been removed from her wrists, relieving the strain from her shoulders that came with hunching over to keep her arms together and in one place, but they had immediately been replaced with the standard auction shackles.

Sitting on their designated half of the waiting area, Santana's had to listen to Pierce mumble about _filth_ and _swine_ for the last thirty minutes.

Her nerves are fraying a rapid rate, and she doesn't need this shit. She needs to keep calm.

"Did you feel that way about Shannon when you first bought her?" She asks sarcastically. She remembers what Brittany had said, about Shannon being thought of as a member of the family once. She can't help but wonder if something had happened to make him change his views so radically, or if he'd really just gone bat-shit crazy after Susan Pierce's death.

If she hadn't spent the money that Brittany had given her, she would have bet it all on the latter.

A couple of Masters in their vicinity eye them, and Pierce seems embarrassed that she's even raised her eyes from the floor, let alone having the audacity to speak to him without first being spoken to. He grips her hair in his fist hard and pulls her closer. "Listen to me, Slave," he hisses, his breath hot and rank on her ear and neck. She tries to pull away, but he jerks her back angrily. She whimpers in pain, her eyes screwed tightly shut to keep her watery eyes from spilling tears on her cheeks; she doesn't want these people to think he's made her cry. "You keep your fucking mouth shut. You know nothing about my family."

Santana manages a pained chuckle. "So Shannon is _family_ now?" She chokes out.

Pierce releases her hair, but before she can sit up straight again, he swings, hitting her with the back of his hand and knocking her off of the bench they're sitting on. She grunts and her hands fly to her face.

Applause rings out from the few who had seen Pierce's display of dominance, and as much as her face hurts, Santana knows the tears welling in her eyes are real this time.

Why is this happening to her? What terrible thing did she do to deserve this again?

As he's picking her up off the floor, William Shuester strolls in, ugly vest and all, to tell them that it's time to begin.

Pierce's hand bunches in the back of her hoodie, shoving her along, and she begins to panic. Her instincts tell her to struggle, just enough to buy some time, but she knows even the slightest wrong move will get her more trouble than she's equipped to deal with.

But time is running out.

At this rate, Brittany will never show up on time.

Very shortly, Santana will be someone else's property.

They wait in the wings as Schuester steps up to the podium, giving his usual spiel about Lima's history and the auction donors. He starts down the list of slaves being sold by Masters, and Santana closes her eyes as he gets closer and closer to the L's.

Brittany's going to show up.

She has to.

"Lopez, Santana," Schuester calls out, and Pierce drags her on stage, in front of the slaves from the slave farm that are lined up at the back. He holds on to the back of her hair, forcing her head up so the crowd can get a good view of her face – and allowing her to see that Brittany is most definitely nowhere to be seen. She breathes hard through her nose as Schuester reads her history and lists what the inspector had found earlier. He pauses as he gets a look at her face. "Seems she's received a new mark since inspection," he notes. "Give you a hard time, huh Pierce?"

Pierce remains quiet, but the crowd ripples with chuckles as Schuester calls out for a starting bid.

Sue Sylvester shouts out a bid of five thousand dollars.

Shelby Corcoran adds five hundred.

Another woman adds a thousand more.

Angrily, Sue raises her megaphone, shouting a bid five hundred higher, along with the most colorful, inventive insults Santana has ever heard.

Santana's chin trembles as they battle for her, the sight so similar to when she first arrived in Lima. She remembers her fear when she'd realized that Brian Pierce had outbid everyone. She remembers praying that someone, anyone, would bid higher. That they would take pity on her and save her from this man.

Now all she wants is for him to take her back.

To take her _home_.

"Please," she cries out quietly through clenched teeth, hoping that Pierce is close enough to hear her broken pleas. "I'll be better, I swear. Just please-"

Part of her still holds hope that he's playing a cruel prank on her to teach her a lesson, but it fades away as he jostles her. She falls silent, and he adds, "Shut up," for good measure.

Schuester is speaking again; Shelby and Sue have conceded to the third woman.

Santana allows her tears to flow freely. A sob rips from her, and she can't find it in her to be ashamed of her emotional display.

Her heart is breaking in her chest; she would rather Pierce ripped it from her, still beating, and stepped on it.

It would be less painful than what she's feeling in this moment, watching all of her hopes, her dreams, her _love_ get crushed.

Once Shuester stops speaking, once he bangs his gavel, that's it.

It's over.

Pierce releases her hair, and Santana drops her chin to her chest; Pierce has defeated her. After months of swearing that she wouldn't let him break her, he's finally gotten everything he wanted.

Santana gives up.

He's won.

The double doors in the back of the auction house slam open. Santana's head jerks back up.

"Stop!" A cry floats over everyone.

Santana's legs nearly fail her.

_Brittany_.

She made it.

And she looks _pissed_.

Santana forces her breathing to even out, her face to remain neutral; there are still a million ways this could go wrong, and she's not sure how Brittany is going to play this.

Brittany pushes through the crowd, nearly toppling a man with a cane, and jumps onto the stage angrily, clutching a handful of papers. She pulls Santana out of Pierce's grasp, but doesn't hold on to her like Santana had hoped she would.

Okay, so Brittany is playing a professional angle. That's probably for the best, Santana thinks.

Pierce hisses Brittany's name, clearly embarrassed, but she ignores him. "I do not give permission for Santana to be sold!" She says to Schuester.

Schuester frowns. "On what grounds, Britt?" He asks, his tone informal, like he's familiar with Brittany. Santana frowns as Brittany's gaze softens the tiniest bit when Schuester remains calm.

"On the grounds that I am her rightful owner, Mr. Schue," Brittany says. Santana flinches slightly, but otherwise remains stoic. Brittany steps forward and takes Santana's ownership papers from Schuester's podium. "My name is on her papers." She points, and Schuester leans over for a better look, his eyes widening when he pulls back. "She was taken from me without my knowledge by my father, and I do _not_ give permission for her to be sold." Pierce grabs her elbow. She rips from his grasp and turns to him, eyes wild with unadulterated hate and anger. "The law says that anyone who steals another's slave can be imprisoned if the rightful owner of that slave so wishes," she spits.

Santana's jaw drops and Pierce sputters, evidently surprised that his sweet, innocent, seemingly naïve daughter knows anything about the laws of slave trading.

"Britt, she's just a slave," Pierce says stubbornly. "You can get a new one."

"She's not _just_ a slave," Brittany says quietly, clearly disgusted with him. "She is _everything_ to me."

Before Pierce can say anything, Schuester touches Brittany's shoulder, stealing her attention. "I'm sorry, Brittany," he says apologetically. He cuts his eyes angrily to Pierce. "I don't know how it slipped through, but I should have double checked."

Brittany acknowledges his words with a curt nod, and he backs away.

"Santana is not to be sold in this or any future auctions," Brittany says before ripping the ownership papers to shreds.

Santana's hands fly to her mouth and she gasps loudly, but she doesn't jump forward to stop Brittany like she longs to do, knowing her actions would be easily mistaken for her attacking Brittany.

Brittany drops the shreds of paper to the floor, looking proud of herself, but Santana's heart is breaking all over again; those papers had been the only thing binding her to Brittany, the only thing keeping her from being taken away by force.

Does Brittany not realize that?

The auction house is deathly silent.

Then, behind them, Pierce begins to laugh, starting low in his belly. Soon, the crowd is joining in. Brittany looks entirely unaffected, and Santana shuffles closer to her, hoping Brittany can somehow stop what she knows is about to happen.

Pierce reaches out and grabs the hand of a reluctant-looking William Schuester. "With those papers destroyed, _no one_ owns her now!" He says, not bothering to contain his excitement. Schuester looks extremely unhappy, but he obviously can't deny that Pierce is right; the matter of whose name was on her papers is irrelevant now that the papers don't exist. Schuester beckons two guards over.

"Brittany!" Santana sobs brokenly as the men grab her and begin to haul her away.

"Stop!" At Brittany's outburst, everyone freezes. Santana stumbles over her mismatched shoes. Brittany approaches, her gaze softening considerably for a second as she looks at Santana. She takes Santana by the hand and leads her back to her original spot. When she releases Santana, her hard mask slams back down. She holds up the papers she'd brought into the building with her, addressing the crowd for the first time. "I destroyed the ownership papers…" She pauses to build suspense, and Santana holds her breath and wrings the chain of her shackles, curious as to where Brittany is going with this. Do those papers have anything to do with where she's been all evening? "Because this afternoon, I signed _these_ papers that state that, henceforth, Santana is a free woman."

The next thing Santana knows, she's on the ground. She crumples, her legs suddenly failing her. Relief and disbelief flood through her, the mix making her lightheaded. She hears the crowd erupt angrily, and Brittany is on her knees beside of her, a key in hand. She unlocks the cuffs on Santana's wrists as Pierce stands above them, scanning the documents, absolutely dumbstruck. Brittany reaches forward and caresses her cheek lovingly, and the complete adoration and devotion Santana sees in her eyes makes her lightheaded again. Brittany pulls her into a hard kiss, then pulls her to her feet and wraps a protective arm around her shoulders. Santana's arms wind around Brittany's waist, holding her close as Brittany supports her.

Pierce growls and begins tearing up the papers in his hands. Brittany still looks unfazed, merely rubbing Santana's arm and kissing her forehead. "This is ridiculous!" He shouts. "Stop this nonsense and get your ass home, Brittany Susan Pierce!"

"No," Brittany says simply, her shoulder lifting in a nonchalant shrug. "I am an adult, and I'll do what I damn well please. It doesn't matter that you ripped those up, they were just copies of the real documents."

"They don't matter anyways!" Pierce roars. "If you knew the law as well as you claim to, you'd know that both the owner _and_ the slave must sign the freedom contract." Santana clings tighter to Brittany's middle; she hadn't signed anything. "This one is illiterate. Isn't that right, Slave?" He smiles victoriously.

But Brittany is quick to shut him down. "I taught Santana how to read and write." His cocky smirk falls from his face. "If you had been paying any sort of attention, you would have seen her beautiful signature in all the right places."

Santana tries to keep the uncertain expression off of her face; she doesn't want to give Brittany's bald-faced lie away.

"Brittany, this is madness!" Pierce sputters. "Freeing slaves…falling in love with them…what would your mother say?"

Brittany stiffens at the mention of her mother, and as he advances on them, she pushes Santana behind her. "She'd probably thank me." His glare turns questioning. "While I was signing the papers to free Santana, I also signed the papers to free Shannon."

"You can't do that."

"I can." For the first time since she arrived at the auction house, Brittany smiles, though it's cold and evil, and the little bit of it that Santana can see makes her shiver. "I looked into it. Did you forget that you had me listed as her co-owner when mom died? So legally, you would have needed my permission to sell her, but I don't need your permission to free her. Funny how the law works, right? Her bags are packed and she's long gone." Pierce clenches his fists. "You've treated her like absolute shit since mom died; she deserves every bit of freedom I can give her."

Before Brittany can utter another word, Pierce launches himself at her. His open palm lands solidly on her face with such force that blood spurts from her nose. Brittany falls to the side, and though Santana makes an attempt to catch her, Brittany lands face down, her hands pressed to her face.

"Brittany!" Santana screams. She drops to her knees, her hand warm and comforting between Brittany's shoulder blades. Brittany rolls enough to pull her hands from her face, and Santana watches the blood drip through her fingers and splash to the floor.

She stands and clenches her jaw. Pierce is being restrained by Schuester and a guard, and she knows he's dying to get at her.

But she's not a slave. The harsh consequences that once applied to her do not any longer. She's free. She is a free woman with thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and feelings, and _goddammit_ she is feeling so pissed right now.

She's in front of the man in two large steps. She lashes out; her fist gets him squarely in the nose, and when his head snaps back, she kicks out with her left leg and her shin catches him in the groin with a sickening thud. Schuester and the guards release him, and Pierce goes down hard, seemingly unsure of what he should be keeping a tighter hold of to quell the pain. Everyone gasps, and Santana is suddenly very aware that they are not alone in the building.

Her eyes snap to Schuester, daring him to say something. Though he doesn't seem to agree with Brittany freeing her, he seems to have no reservations about what she's done to Pierce; he offers her a nod, and she returns it fully, thankful that they've come to an understanding.

She hears a pitiful whine behind her. Santana whirls around and looks down. Brittany is sitting on her hip, her right elbow holding her up as her left forearm presses against her nose.

She's looking up at Santana, and Santana can see it in Brittany's eyes.

Brittany finally understand what it's like to be in such a position.

Santana has spent so many years at the feet of other people, bloody and broken, and it was the one place she'd never wanted Brittany to be. But now, lying just beyond Santana's feet, her nose gushing blood, Santana can see that Brittany knows how much the freedom contract _actually_ means to her, what it actually means _for_ her.

She'll never be in that position again, and it's all thanks to Brittany.

A tear slips down her cheek, and she helps Brittany to her feet. She moves to push the sleeve of her hoodie against Brittany's nose, but Brittany bats her away, smiling gratefully, but unwilling to let Santana get blood all over her favorite hoodie. She rests her head against Santana's for a brief moment, breathing her in.

She pulls away quickly, her eyes going cold again as they land on her father, curled on the ground. "Don't come home tonight," she warns, her voice thick because of the blood and devoid of any emotion. "It's the least you can do for me, if you really care. Santana and I will be gone by morning." Then, she steers Santana to the stairs. Together, they part the crowd, facing taunting jeers and angry words until they break through the doors.

The cold night air hits them, and Santana moves closer to Brittany. "I love you," she says, her emotions threatening to render her speechless. "You'll never understand how much. And I…I will never be able to thank you enough for what you've done."

Brittany snorts, then spits a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. "I probably just started a riot or something."

Santana laughs. "Probably." Brittany unlocks the car and Santana flings the passenger door open and drops into her seat, eager to get far away from what is sure to become a mad house in just a few minutes. Her feet brush something in the floorboard, and she looks down. She groans in appreciation when she spots her own tennis shoes with her socks stuffed in them, having not fully realized how cold her feet were. She pulls them on and tosses the old flip flops out the window. "So is that where you were this afternoon?"

"Yeah, Rachel called to tell me that the request had finally, _finally_ gone through, and I wanted it to be a surprise so I didn't say anything," Brittany says bashfully. "We all went down together, but we got held up. I didn't think it'd take as long as it did…"

"Shannon was so upset," Santana says quietly.

Brittany snorts. "You should have seen her when I finally got home. She kicked the trash can across the room." She digs her keys from her pocket, then looks at Santana briefly. "She…really cares about you. I think you might be like a daughter to her."

Santana bites her lip, but doesn't tell Brittany what she's thinking, that she's sort of starting thinking of Shannon as a mom.

Brittany seems to get it though, and she smiles before she starts the car, but only drives for a couple of minutes before turning off and stopping on a side street. She leaves the car running, and turns on the overhead interior lights.

"What are we doing, Britt?" Santana asks, looking around at the unfamiliar street. 

Brittany reaches into the backseat, and when she sits back up, she's holding a bouquet of red and purple roses and a brown envelope. "What's this?" She asks as Brittany holds the flowers out for her to take.

Brittany shrugs, and Santana can see the tears beginning to track down her face. "This is the other reason I was later than I planned. I wanted tonight to be special," she whispers. "So I…" She trials off, and Santana realizes that she still hasn't accepted the bouquet when Brittany thrusts it forward.

Santana takes them, and holds them close to her chest. "Oh, Britt," she breathes. No one has ever given her flowers, and her heart feels like it's going to burst from her chest. She leans down and presses her nose to the flowers briefly. "They're beautiful."

" _You're_ beautiful," Brittany insists, gazing at Santana with the same adoration and devotion as before. She opens the envelope and pulls out another pack of papers, thankful that she'd thought ahead to make copies; it had cost extra, but she had known that it would be worth it. "It's not over yet," she says regretfully. She digs through the center console and produces a pen. "I forged your signature on the other copies, but you for real have to sign these." She clicks the pen. "Then it's over, baby. It's all over."

Santana stares at the papers in Brittany's hand, the writing on the top, in big bold letters glaring at her. _Freedom Contract_. She takes a deep breath before grabbing the pen and the paper that Brittany has pulled from the stack. She pokes her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, concentrating on making her signature perfect. When she's finished, she releases the breath she had been holding and hands everything back to Brittany.

"This feels like a dream," she says quietly as Brittany slips the papers back into the envelope. "I've been wishing for so long. And tonight I thought-" Her tears cut her sentence short, and she buries her face in her hands and sobs.

Brittany leans over and wraps her arms around Santana, letting her cry. "You didn't think I'd let you go without a fight, did you?" She mumbles into Santana's hair. Santana shakes her head vehemently; she wants to tell Brittany that she never doubted her, that she knew that she would come, she was just afraid it would be too late. She feels Brittany smile into her hair. "I love you," she says. "So, so much. And I am so proud of how you handled everything today. _So_ proud." She brushes her hand over Santana's arms, her head, her back, until her sobs subside. She pulls away, and gently pries Santana's hands from her face. "Hi," she says softly when Santana looks at her. Santana giggles. "I'd kiss you, but…"

Santana's eyes snap to the bloodied half of Brittany's face, her anger at seeing Brittany on the floor, hurt, returning. "I could have killed him, Britt, I swear," she admits lowly.

She expects Brittany to be angry or sad or shocked by her admission, but her face doesn't change. "I know." She smoothes the hair from Santana's forehead, then drops her hand to rub her thumb over her jaw absently. "That's how I felt last night," she whispers. "When I found out he'd hit you. And…that's how I feel now, seeing these fresh bruises." She releases a breath, calming herself down. "It scares me, that I can feel this way about my own father."

"Do you think-"

"No," Brittany says certainly, cutting off Santana's question. "I don't think he'll change. I don't think he'll come around. Something in him broke when mom died, and…I don't think it can be fixed."

"Britt." Santana lays a hand on her knee.

"No, I'm okay," Brittany assures her, smiling wide to prove it. "I've had…a lot of time to come to terms with it, and today really proved that he won't change. Not for me, not for anyone. It hurts…but not nearly as bad as I thought it would." Santana is suddenly overcome with the pressing urge to kiss Brittany, but she knows she'll be denied, so she reaches up and presses kisses all across Brittany's forehead. Brittany giggles. "As much as I love this, we should probably get back to the house and pack."

Santana sits back in her seat. "Where are we going to go?" She asks as Brittany switches all of the interior lights off and begins driving again.

"Rachel has a plan."

"Of course she does." Santana rolls her eyes, though she's a little grateful that they're not just running blind. "And what is Rachel Berry's oh so magnificent plan?"

"New York."

\-----

Shannon and the few belongings she possesses are gone when they get back to the house, and Santana takes solace in the fact that the fight is over for Shannon too, that she got away safely.

Brittany cleans the blood from her face and sheds her bloodied shirt. Santana tries to talk her out of it, but ultimately Brittany ends up spreading the shirt out on her father's bed. Santana wishes she wouldn't; it seems weird to her, morbid, but the look in Brittany's eyes tells her that this is something Brittany needs to do.

She needs for her father to see what he's done, once his temper has died down. In his calm moments, she wants her father to see the shirt, and think back on what he's done to Brittany, his only child.

It only takes about two hours for them to pack up all of their clothes and other necessities.

The challenge is getting it all into Brittany's car.

Santana is so excited she can barely stand still long enough to be of any help. And anxious; god, they're both so anxious. Every car that passes makes them pause their efforts, dread pooling in their stomachs.

Brittany had demanded that Pierce stay away tonight if he cared, but that didn't mean he would respect her wishes.

Finally, with all of their belongings meticulously arranged in the trunk and the backseat, Lord Tubbington stuffed safely in his cat carrier in the back floorboard, and Sir Waddlesworth perched on Santana's lap, they pull away from Pierce's house, bound for Rachel's.

For Santana, it brings immense relief, watching the house disappear in the side-view mirror, knowing she'll likely never return, knowing that she'll definitely never be tormented by Pierce – or any other Master, for that matter – ever again.

For Brittany, though, leaving is bittersweet. She wants nothing more than to leave, to start a new life in a new place with Santana, somewhere no one will know their names. She's so excited at the prospect of making new memories with her girl. But when she catches a glimpse of the disappearing house in the rearview mirror, a wave of tears slams into her eyes suddenly, making her vision blurry.

She doesn't want to be there anymore, but the good memories that she's leaving behind – her dad was good, Shannon was happy, her mom was _alive_ \- are almost too painful to bear.

She sniffles as the first tear falls, and it immediately catches Santana's attention, making her bright excited smile fall. "Britt?"

Brittany presses the back of her hand lightly to her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. "I'm fine," she whispers, though the fact that she can barely say the two simple words is a large indicator that she is not, in fact, fine.

"You're not," Santana says. She pushes her shoulder-belt off and behind her and leans over the center console. She wraps her hand under Brittany's jaw to hold her face still as she ghosts her lips all over the right side of Brittany's face. "Pull over, Britt," she insists, fearing that Brittany is too distraught to drive any further.

Santana lays her forehead against Brittany's temple, and Brittany leans into her slightly. "No, I'm okay." She wipes her face and reaches her left hand around to hold Santana's head in place for a few short, sweet seconds. "It just hurt for a second. It'll go away when we turn off this street," she promises.

The street she grew up on.

The tears almost begin anew, but true to her word, as soon as they turn off of the street, the burn in her chest begins to subside and her vision slowly clears.

Santana lays one more kiss to her cheek before sitting back in her seat and putting her seatbelt back on. "I love you." She lays a hand on Brittany's thigh.

Reminded of one of the reasons that she's leaving in the first place, Brittany smiles. "I love you, too."

\-----

Shannon is pacing in Rachel's driveway when they pull up, and all of their friends are either sitting or standing around in various states of disarray.

When they pull in, those that had been sitting jump up, and those that had been standing look as though their legs are suddenly failing them.

Santana can see that Shannon's knees are seconds from buckling. Santana knows that if she'd been standing the moment she laid eyes on the woman, she would have had trouble too.

Rationally, she had known that Shannon was safe, but seeing the woman with her own eyes fills her with a dizzying relief.

They meet her at the front of Brittany's car. She's crying before they even fall into her outstretched, welcoming arms. Shannon wraps her large arms around them, stroking their hair and sobbing into the space where their shoulders touch. "My sweet girls," she whispers brokenly, kissing the side of each of their heads. "My sweet, brave girls."

"It's over Shannon," Santana mutters. "We're free."

"It's not over yet," Puck's distressed voice breaks through their bubble, and they all pull away from each other.

"Because of Britt's dad, we all have to leave Lima," Mike says bitterly.

"Before, we could have easily stayed if we wanted," Rachel says. Quinn grabs her hand when her voice wavers. "No one would have had to know about this. But now most of the town will know by morning. It won't be safe for us. Especially the ones we freed. Lima is too close-minded, we'll never have a moment's peace."

They all fall silent. Brittany knows that most of them had been planning to leave Lima anyways, but Puck had wanted to stay for his mom, and Mike had wanted to open a dance studio for the troubled youth of Lima.

But now they have to leave, too. Because of her father.

Her jaw tightens as she gets angry again. "Guys, I am so sorry," she says miserably. "This is all my fault."

"Britt, please, you don't control his crazy ass," Mercedes says, her hand waving dismissively.

"Yeah, Brittany," Quinn says. "You didn't know he was going to do this."

Brittany opens her mouth to object, but Shannon lays a hand on her shoulder. "Brittany, stop blaming yourself. Your dad is an adult, he made his own choices." She gestures to the group. "Look at them. Do they really look unhappy to you?"

Brittany looks to each of them; although they'd sounded angry moments ago, they're nothing but wide grins and giddy excitement now, and she realizes they were only angry about what her father had attempted tonight, not about what it meant for all of them.

"Hey." Mercedes shrugs. "I was heading to New York anyways for college. And you know Rachel's chasing that crazy ass Broadway dream." Rachel gasps in outrage, and Quinn immediately moves to comfort her.

"Yeah, and I can open a dance studio anywhere," Mike assures her. "Though…now I think I might want to go to law school. Who knows?"

"And I'm a delinquent anyways," Puck says with a shrug, his arm thrown around Kurt's shoulders. "I always have been, and the whole town knows my mom could never control me. She'll be okay."

Brittany grins at all of them. She turns to Rachel and says, "So about this brilliant plan…"

Rachel smiles like Brittany has just handed her her own personal gold star. She grips Quinn's hand tightly and raises it above their hands, making Quinn roll her eyes. "New York!" She screeches, and the rest follow with victory shouts of their own.

"Finn is letting us borrow a van from the shop to haul our shit," Puck says before jogging away.

It's only seconds later when he's backing the van into Rachel's driveway, then hopping out to help Brittany unpack her car.

While they're busy, Tina, Kurt, Quinn, Sam, and Santana gather in a circle a little further away.

Tina stretches her hands out in front of her. "Is this for real?" She asks. "Are we seriously _free_?"

Kurt spreads his arms and looks up to the night sky dramatically. "Free," he mumbles, his smile as dazzling as ever.

"Fuckin' free," Sam adds helpfully around a large smile.

Quinn and Santana share a smile, but neither feels the need to repeat the words their friends are echoing between them.

"Holy shit," Tina breathes and they all laugh.

"It feels like a dream," Kurt sniffs. He looks to the group standing around the van. "How do we ever repay them?"

"We help them move on," Quinn says quietly. They all look at her curiously. "They're putting their entire lives on hold for us, giving up their families, moving across the country because it's not safe for us." She pauses, letting it sink in. "We just need to be there for them. We just need to love them. Like they love us."

Santana smiles to herself, already knowing that that won't be a problem, but also knowing that Brittany's family – she and Shannon – will be with her always.

"Alright guys!" Rachel's voice cuts through their circle, and she claps her hands, as if she didn't already have their undivided attention. "Brittany, Santana, and Shannon can stay here tonight." Santana would rather sleep in Brittany's car, but she keeps her mouth shut. "Go home, pack, and meet back here tomorrow at noon!"

Everyone scatters to their respective vehicles, and Santana meets Brittany by her car.

Brittany trails the fingers of her left hand down Santana's right arm. "Hi."

Santana giggles, tangling her fingers with Brittany's. "Hey."

Brittany tugs her closer and wraps her free hand around Santana's waist, holding their joined hands up by her heart. She nuzzles her nose against Santana's cheek. "Can I kiss you?" She asks, quiet and suddenly timid.

Santana pulls back slightly, startled by Brittany's sudden uncertainty. Something is bothering her. "Britt? What's wrong?"

Brittany tries to pull out of her grasp, but Santana tightens her hold, keeping Brittany close. "It's stupid," Brittany mumbles.

"Hey, whoa," Santana says. She uses their joined hands to nudge Brittany's chin, making her look at her. "Britt, we don't use that word, remember?"

Brittany nods and is quiet for a moment. "It's just…I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore." Santana furrows her eyebrows, confused as to where Brittany would have gotten such an idea; had Santana given that impression? "If you weren't being forced to be with me, I mean."

Santana shakes her head, devastated that Brittany could even begin to think that way. "Britt," she whispers. "I love you. I'll always want you."

Brittany's eyes brighten considerably, but she still seems uncertain. "Really?"

"Of course, baby. I love you," she repeats.

"I love you, too."

Santana bites her lip. "And," she says, drawing the word out. "I think…I might actually die if you don't kiss me. Like, soon."

Brittany grins and leans in. Santana meets her halfway, their lips sliding together in slow, deep kiss.

When they pull away, both breathless, Santana smiles and looks down. Brittany giggles at her sudden shyness. "What?"

It's going to sound silly, Santana knows, but it means the world to her, and she needs Brittany to hear it. "Free kisses," she whispers.

Brittany grins, fully understanding what she means; Santana's first kiss as a free woman. "And a million more where that came from."

Santana accepts another peck from Brittany's lips before sighing. "I am so exhausted."

Brittany frowns adorably. "Too exhausted to go to a late dinner with me?"

Santana smiles and shakes her head. "Never, Britt."

\-----

It's nearly midnight, so BreadstiX is absolutely empty.

Which is good because otherwise Santana would have to stop shoveling breadsticks into her mouth – or she would at least have to have the decency to be embarrassed about the rate at which she is currently doing just that.

Brittany laughs at her, and Santana scowls, faking anger. " _Why_ is this the first time that I am eating here?" She demands, still munching on a breadstick. "No me gusta."

"You might want to slow down before you get sick," Brittany suggests lightly.

Santana looks alarmed for a second, but doesn't stop herself from reaching for another breadstick. "I can't stop. Like, it is physically impossible. Please help me." Brittany laughs again, her nose crinkling adorably, and Santana looks around wildly before leaning closer. "Can we smuggle these out in our pockets? Is that a thing that can happen? Also, can we live here?"

Brittany presses her hand to her mouth to hide her giggles. "I'm sure if you ask nicely for a to-go box they would gladly bring you one."

"Fuck yes," Santana groans, already calculating mentally how to fit as many of the breadsticks into a box as possible.

"Babe," Brittany warns as Santana reaches for yet another, making her halt with her hand in midair. "Please slow down. I don't want you to get sick."

Santana huffs and tries to hide her smile, deciding to focus on the food on her plate. "Okay, okay," she concedes, throwing her hands up by her face for good measure. "Okay. So I have a question." She waits until she has Brittany's attention before continuing in a lower voice. "When did you guys start this whole freedom crusade thing?"

Brittany twirls her fork as she thinks back. "In March. We'd all made it clear to our parents that we didn't want sex slaves. But Mike's parents were being really persistent about it. They weren't going to force him, but they were making it pretty clear that they were disappointed about it, and Mike hates disappointing his dad. So he decided to cave, and when he brought it up to all of us one night, Rachel and Puck agreed that they also wanted to do it to make their parents happy. And Mercedes' parents were already in the works of getting her one for college, to…help relieve stress, or something, I don't know. So Rachel came up with this plan to put it off until late July or early August, and do some research on freeing slaves in the meantime."

Santana holds up her hand, stopping Brittany's story. "Okay, wait, hold up. Was she just planning for everyone to barge in there waving money around and buying up all the slaves to set them free?" She's unable to rid herself of the image of Rachel Berry bursting into the auction house in a gold star costume, freeing slaves like trapped doves, her arms held up as she spins in place.

Brittany laughs and breaks through Santana's mental image. "Believe it or not, I think so," she says. "Any way, I thought my dad had finally gotten the hint that I wanted nothing to do with this business, that I don't agree with…owning another person and making them…any way. I was mostly in this for Shannon."

"Shannon?"

Brittany sips her water and nods. "I was looking for a wormhole-"

"Loophole, Britt," Santana corrects, smiling fondly.

Brittany nods. "That too." Santana frowns, but decides that Brittany possibly searching for wormholes is a conversation to be tackled another day. "I was looking for a loophole to get her away from my dad."

"God, I would have paid to have been there when she opened her envelope and saw what was inside."

Brittany's mouth twitches to the side for a moment, and suddenly, just for a second, she's somewhere far away. "Me too," she says quietly, and Santana can tell that she's thinking of what they both missed out on tonight.

"It's okay," she assures Brittany, reaching out and laying a hand on top of Brittany's. "I know you wanted everything to be perfect…but it was still really special."

Brittany smiles and turns her hand over, gripping Santana's softly. "I guess so. I got to rescue my lady. Twice."

Santana puts a hand to her chest and pretends to swoon. "My lady knight in shining armor." Brittany nods, all fake seriousness, before she bends down and begins eating again, not bothering to release Santana's hand.

It's then that a thought occurs to Santana.

She is free. No longer a slave.

And that means there is nothing holding them back from what they've been wanting for so long.

"Will you make love to me tonight?"

Brittany chokes on her shrimp, finally releasing Santana's hand to grab desperately for her water glass. Santana looks on, worried that she'd said the wrong thing. "What?" Brittany asks breathlessly.

Santana wants to bring up the fact that Brittany had promised to make love to her as much as she wanted, but she feels like that would be pushing a little. Santana reaches across the table again, and Brittany doesn't hesitate to take her hand. "I know it will be weird since we'll be in Rachel's basement and all, and it will be hard…because of my past…but I want this. I want you. So will you? Make love to me?"

Brittany's eyes melt and after a few seconds she nods, her smile small and shy.

Santana smiles back and takes a deep breath. She knows it's not going to be easy; making love to Brittany – Brittany making love to her – is going to be terrifying. Painful memories are going to resurface. She might have a panic attack. She'll definitely cry. A lot. But like everything else, she and Brittany are going to get through it.

Together.

\-----

"Wait." Brittany pulls at Santana's hand as they leave the restaurant, making her stop beside the car. She pulls Santana tight against her, arms wrapped around her waist. She looks troubled, and Santana rubs her arms, trying to comfort her.

"Brittany, what's wrong?" She asks. Brittany's eyes dart away from hers, looking over her shoulder. "Britt, c'mon. Are you nervous? Because I am-"

"I'm not nervous," Brittany says lowly. Santana turns her head, expecting someone to be standing behind her, where Brittany is staring, but when she sees no one, she turns her confused gaze back to Brittany.

"Britt, you're scaring me."

Finally, Brittany's eyes snap to her. "Be my girlfriend," she rushes out. Santana's eyes widen, and an awkward pause hangs between them when Brittany takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I mean. Santana. Will you be my girlfriend?"

A slow smile spreads across Santana's face; it hadn't been official, but she had assumed they were girlfriends anyways. She nods and winds her arms around Brittany's neck. She leans in, and before her lips touch Brittany's, she whispers, "I'd love nothing more."

Brittany closes the distance between them, her hands shaking on Santana's hips as she deepens the kiss, pressing Santana back against the passenger door of her car. Santana closes her eyes as Brittany's tongue slides over her own before she pulls back to nip at Santana's bottom lip. Santana moans and bucks her hips into Brittany. She opens her eyes, slightly embarrassed.

Brittany presses her lips to the corner of Santana's mouth. "Let's get out of here," she suggests.

Santana nods eagerly.

\-----

"Say goodbye to Lima," Brittany says as they approach the city's limits. "We're never coming back."

Santana, still in a blissful haze from the night's activities, turns her head to stare at Brittany with a dopey smile. After a moment, she asks vaguely, "Your dad?" But even she isn't sure where her train of thought had been heading.

Brittany sighs. "He hasn't even called to see if I'm okay." Shannon reaches up from the backseat to lay her hand on Brittany's shoulder, the weight seeping comfort into Brittany's skin. "He's made his choice. And I made mine a long time ago."

Santana rests her hand on top of Shannon's, still on Brittany's shoulder, remaining quiet.

They're a family now, the three of them plus the other misfits in their convoy heading away from Lima, Ohio.

Santana smiles. She's free. She has a family.

Finally, she can breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N2: First thing first, I know a lot of you were hoping for Pierce to have some character development, to redeem himself; I'm sorry if you were disappointed that you didn't get that. When I first started this fic, my intentions were not to make him so evil, but that's the direction the story took. As Brittany said, something in him is broken, and if he does come around, it will take some time, and who is to say that Brittany would forgive him anyways.
> 
> Second, I know a lot of you were hoping for me to write their first time, but it wasn't something that I ultimately felt comfortable doing, because I felt like I couldn't do it justice. It would have been scary and so extremely intimate for both of them, but especially for Santana, and it was something that I felt was left better for you guys to imagine it in your own ways. But don't worry, I will work smut in the epilogue for those of you who were dying for it.
> 
> Lastly, I'd like to explain my reasoning for Brittany's choice of flowers, just in case you happen to not be someone who is going to rush to Google to look them up. We all know that canon Brittany is an expert in things that seems trivial to most people (random cat facts, for instance), and she is no different here, as she knows exactly which flowers to get Santana and Shannon.
> 
> A red/purple mix for Santana for a couple of reasons. One is that Santana said her favorite colors were red and purple; Brittany wanted to show to her that she remembers this – it's the little things that matter. Second, purple symbolizes royalty, and at the fair in chapter 7, Brittany calls Santana _Princess Santana_ \- again, it's the little things. Lastly, red roses symbolize romance and love while purple (lavender) roses symbolize love at first sight and romantic feelings or intentions.
> 
> A white/pink mix for Shannon because white roses symbolize new starts, something Brittany knows Shannon desperately needs, and pink roses symbolize gratitude and appreciation, because Brittany is grateful for everything that Shannon has done for her.
> 
> _And the single yellow rose in each bouquet symbolizes freedom._


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is the end. _Burn the Whore House to the Ground_ is officially a completed fic, but is not marked as such because I'm writing an alternate ending. So, if, for whatever reasons, you were not satisfied with the ending (or if you are just curious to see the other way I had wrestled with ending this), fear not, because I am writing another, and hopefully it will be more to your standards!
> 
> A couple of people have asked about a sequel. It's a possibility! I've got some loose ideas for one, but if it happens it'll be a while.
> 
> Also, a quick word of apology for my terrible, terrible Spanish later in this chapter. If I got any of it wrong, I sincerely apologize.
> 
> I want to thank all of you who took the time to read and review, follow, and/or favorite. You guys are amazing for sticking with me through this journey, and this has been one of my greatest fic writing experiences to date. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This is not the last you'll see of me, and if you want to keep up with updates you can follow me at the same username on tumblr.
> 
> (Warning: smut! And slight mentions of violence.)

**Three Years Later**

Matt Rutherford slams on the brakes a fraction of a second too late, and the front of his car collides with the back of the car in front of him. He narrowly avoids head butting his steering wheel, and he hears more than feels his slave crash into the back of his seat.

All that matters to him, though, is the sickening twist of metal that he hears. He cringes, and prays that the other car's occupants are unharmed.

The last thing he needs is another lawsuit.

He steps out of the car and slams the door. He leans down and pokes his head back in his open window and mumbles, "Stay in the fucking car."

Once he turns around, the slave rolls her eyes irritably. As if there were anywhere for her to go.

She watches as a man with a close-cut mohawk jumps from the passenger seat of the other car and inspects the damage to the back of the vehicle. When Matt approaches him, spouting apologies, the man shoves Matt's chest, sending him back a step.

"What the fuck, bro?" Mohawk man yells. Behind him, a blonde woman steps from the driver's seat. She looks just as angry, but decidedly more calm than her passenger. "My wife is four months pregnant, you mother-"

"Noah," the blonde warns, a hand on his bicep. The slave inspects her, then rolls her eyes again; in her tight tank top, it's obvious that blondie isn't four months pregnant, but she knows her Master is dumb enough to fall for the ruse.

"Dude, take a chill pill, it was an accident!" Matt yells. The slave exhales, suddenly nervous. He's getting angry; she'll probably get at least two beatings tonight so that he can relieve his frustrations. Matt turns to the blonde. "Are you okay?"

The blonde winces and uses a hand to cradle her lower back. "My back," she says simply. The man with the mohawk – Noah – jumps at Matt, but the woman's back is obviously not bothering her enough to keep her from holding her husband back. "Noah, no," she says. Noah immediately backs away, but not before jabbing a finger into Matt's chest.

"We'll see you in court, buddy," he threatens, baring his teeth and reaching into his pocket, presumably for a cell phone.

_Uh-oh_.

Her Master has been in enough trouble recently; judging by the color draining from his face, she guesses he'll end up doing just about anything to settle this out of court.

"Hold up, bro!" He confirms her suspicions in record time. "Can't we come to some sort of agreement? Surely insurance-" He breaks off when he notices what – or rather who – the blonde's eyes have zeroed in on.

The slave's breath hitches as crystal blue eyes bore into her own, wondering what she could have possibly done to offend the woman.

She doesn't want to earn an extra beating.

The woman tips her chin towards her, then addresses Matt. "Can I have a look at her?"

Matt, though clearly confused, steps aside, clearing the way and gesturing wildly for her to help herself while Noah pulls him further away, presumably to try to come to a consensus on how to handle the matter.

The woman sticks her hand into the open driver window and hits the unlock button. Once the back lock has popped up, she jerks the door open and bends over to poke her head into the car so she's eye-to-eye with the slave.

She cowers from the blonde's intense gaze.

"You ever had children?"

The question startles her, and her eyes snap briefly to the woman's flat stomach where a second trimester of pregnancy is most definitely not happening. The blonde snaps her fingers once to regain her attention and she jumps, swallowing nervously as she nods. The woman continues to stare at her, and she chances to speak. "One," she says, voice low and hoarse from underuse. "Only one."

"Boy? Girl?"

She narrows her eyes at the woman's strange line of questioning. Surely she can't be looking to take any of her children, can she? "Girl." Her eyes well up with long buried emotions. "But I lost her many years ago."

The woman's face twitches with an unreadable emotion for a second. "What's your name?" Her tone is more curious than demanding this time, but no less rushed, as if they have a limited amount of time for discussion.

She swallows, ashamed that she needs a second to remember her own goddamn name. "Maribel," she says finally. The woman is looking at her impatiently, as though she expects more, so she adds, "Lopez. Maribel Lopez."

The woman straightens so suddenly that she startles Maribel. "I want her," she demands, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

Matt sputters for a moment. "Excuse me?!"

"Your slave," she explains slowly, her eyes narrowed. "I want her." She locks eyes with her husband, and a silent conversation seems to pass between them.

"You heard my wife," Noah says after a moment. "We want the slave."

"You're not getting my slave!" Matt says indignantly. "Do you know how much I paid for it?"

They don't, but Maribel knows he'd only paid a few hundred dollars; being older, having birthed a child, and with a history of supposed illegal fraternization, Maribel had been handed over to a discount auction house. She'd been cheap, and Matt had still been her only bidder.

He'd needed a cheap punching bag that he could occasionally stick his dick into.

The blonde's voice pulls Maribel back to the present. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it wasn't enough," she growls, and Maribel can't help but raise her eyebrows. "Look at her, she's gorgeous!"

Well that's a first.

Matt's face scrunches in confusion. "Look, Miss…"

"Pierce," she adds helpfully. "But you can call me Brittany." She points to Maribel. "And I want her or we can take this to court. It's your choice." She cradles her back again for emphasis.

Matt breathes heavily through his nose for a few moments, weighing his options. On one hand, he could always get another slave. It wouldn't be hard to find a cheap one at the auction house.

But on the other hand, Maribel is submissive to him, and it had taken several weeks to get her to a point where he was happy with her. If he got another slave, all of that effort would be wasted, on top of having to do it all over again.

Matt sighs. As much as he doesn't want to break another slave, court costs could get outrageous, and he's barely recovered financially from his last run in with the law. He runs his hand over his short hair and mumbles, "Shit."

Still staring at Brittany's face, Maribel catches the small victorious smirk that settles on her lips.

"I take it we have a deal, Mr. Rutherford?" Brittany asks icily, and Maribel frowns, wondering how these people know her Master's name when he hadn't even said it.

But he's never been the brightest bulb, so he merely nods, swallowing hard and not questioning anything further.

"Great!" Brittany slams the door and returns to her husband and Matt. They converse for a few more moments, with Matt giving directions for them to just follow him to the courthouse to get the ownership changed over.

Maribel's head spins, baffled at how fast this is all happening. She had thought she was stuck with Matt for the rest of her miserable life, but in the space of five minutes she suddenly belongs to someone else.

Matt doesn't seem too terribly torn up about losing her so suddenly, Maribel notices as he returns to the driver's seat, mumbling to himself. She's obviously not upset about being taken from him either; sure this Noah character looks like he may have a bit of a temper, but he seems to be easily calmed by Brittany, who seems decent enough. And since they have each other, maybe they only want her as a maid. She's heard of that happening to slaves, and she knows it's probably preferable to being used for sex.

Maybe together, Brittany and Noah will be kind of okay owners.

Once they arrive at the courthouse, Maribel is locked in the car as the paperwork is handled inside. It only takes ten minutes of Maribel nervously twiddling her thumbs for Matt, Brittany, and Noah to emerge from the building. Brittany skips over to Maribel's door as Noah and Matt shake hands.

Brittany opens the door and holds her hand out for Maribel to take. Maribel hesitates only a second, mentally preparing herself to be yanked out and left to fall on her face. Instead, Brittany holds her hand softly and pulls her to her feet, making sure she's balanced before letting her go. Maribel's leash dangles down her front, and Brittany eyes it with disdain.

"You might want to be careful," Matt warns. "She can be really feisty."

Brittany frowns, a look of disgust crossing her features. She reaches up slowly, so as not to startle Maribel, and unsnaps the tight collar. She takes Maribel's hand again and tosses the collar and leash to Matt. Maribel's eyes widen.

Brittany leans closer, so her next whispered words exist only in the space between them. "It's okay. We're not going to hurt you, but you have to trust us."

Great. Brittany and Noah must be into some really kinky shit for Brittany to be asking a slave to trust them.

Brittany tugs her hand lightly, leading her to her car. Once she's in the backseat and the door is closed, Brittany shakes Matt's hand and they all go their separate ways.

Maribel feels a strange sense of relief as she watches him drive off, knowing that she won't belong to him anymore.

Maribel chances a look at her new owners as they enter the car. Brittany's face is no longer a hard mask. Instead, she is a happy, grinning mess. And Noah? Well, he just looks…oddly impressed with something.

"I can't believe that actually worked," Brittany breathes, and Maribel frowns.

Why does she suddenly feel like she's been tricked?

"Holy shit, Brittany," Noah says, his hand clasping Brittany's tightly for a few seconds. "Was that dumb luck or what?"

Brittany grins and taps her chin thoughtfully. "I prefer to call it 'Plan B'."

"Well, what the fuck was Plan A?"

Brittany waves a hand dismissively, and Maribel listens with rapt attention; it seems as though they've forgotten about her. "It involved a stapler and a bucket of cheese, and that's all you need to know."

Noah seems to sink into his seat for a moment, and even Maribel can feel an unexplained tension leave his body. "Can we turn this stupid rental car in and go home now?" He whines. "I miss Kurt."

If possible, Brittany face brightens even more. "Puck. We _found_ her! Finally! You never have to leave Kurt again, and we don’t need to go on any more of these stupid 'business trips'," she says excitedly, her words accentuated by air quotes. She turns in her seat and thrusts her hand towards Maribel's face, making her flinch at the sudden, quick movements. "Hi. I'm Brittany S. Pierce, and this is Noah Puckerman, but you can just call us Brittany and Puck."

Maribel stares blankly at Brittany, thoroughly confused by every word she's just said, until Brittany retracts her hand, looking completely disappointed.

Puck turns and offers her a charming smile. Maribel doesn't want to like either of them, but they have a strange, comforting air, and she can't help but relax into her seat a bit. "There's just one rule," he says. He gestures to the manila envelope in the seat beside of her and produces a pen from his pocket. When she merely glances between his face and the envelope, he says, "Open it."

She startles at his voice, but rushes to comply, not wanting to anger her new owners. She pulls a handful of papers from the envelope and reads the bold words printed at the top of the first page.

_Freedom Contract_.

Her eyes snap up, jumping first to Puck's face, then to Brittany's. "What is this?" She demands without thinking.

Puck smiles and moves the pen closer to her. "That is your future."

Maribel scowls, burning anger flaring in her chest. "Is this some sort of joke?" She spits, not finding it in herself to regret her tone.

"It's not a joke, Ms. Lopez." Maribel's eyes widen at the formal name, uttered with such respect that it squeezes her heart painfully. She immediately feels her anger subside. Brittany starts the car and pulls away from the curb. "And it's not a test. You don't have to sign that right away, but it would mean a lot if you'd hear us out."

When it becomes apparent that Puck isn't going to take his hand back, she plucks the pen from his fingers and holds it loosely in her own. "What are you talking about? What is all of this?" Her fingers play with the edges of the Freedom Contract; she's heard of them, sure, but she was never really sure that they actually existed. After all, who would want to free a slave?

"We can't tell you everything. Yet," Puck says cryptically. "But we've been searching for you for a really long time."

Brittany catches Maribel's eyes in the rearview mirror and she smiles widely, her blue eyes large, shining, and _honest_. "We’ve got a surprise for you."

\-----

Santana leans back in her office chair and rubs her tired eyes. Her boss, Holly, appointed her leader of her team for their latest ad campaign project, leaving her with a hint that success on Santana's part could result in a major promotion plus a pretty sweet pay raise.

But this is the biggest project her team has ever taken on. They've been working relentlessly on it for nearly two weeks, and it's barely half finished. There's only three days left before it needs to be put into production, and there is absolutely no way they're getting it done on time.

It's impossible.

She knows she can kiss her possible raise and promotion goodbye.

She doesn't necessarily need the raise – she and Brittany are financially secure, with the inheritance that Susan Pierce had left for Brittany. And she doesn't need the promotion – she's perfectly fine with her little corner cubicle.

But getting at least one of those would have been a big confidence booster, knowing she's only been working at the company for two years.

Knowing that she's a former slave who had only learned to read and write a little over three years ago.

And again, she's _fine_ with her corner cubicle.

But having her own office would have been fucking _magnificent_.

"Knock, knock." Santana pulls her hands from her face and swivels to greet her teammate, resisting the urge to roll her eyes; she loves Dave, really she does – he's a hard worker, and she knows that, out of the four people on her team, he's the one that she can rely on the most – but his habit of saying _knock, knock_ every time he comes to her cubicle is one of the most annoying things in the world.

"Dave," she says softly, noting his obvious excitement, a far cry from the down trodden attitude he'd been sporting at the end of their team meeting earlier in the morning – the meeting where they had come to the realization that the project wouldn't be finished on time. "What's up?"

"I just walked by Ms. Holliday's office," he says quietly, bouncing in place. "She was on a conference call with the suits upstairs, and I heard her mention that the production deadline is being extended!"

Santana uncrosses her legs and jumps up, her excitement mirroring Dave's. "Are you kidding me? How long?"

"A week and a half!"

Santana throws her arms over her head. "Yes!" She enthuses as quietly as possible. "That should give us time if we step it up a bit."

"I know!"

"Well, I see that you've heard the good news." Dave and Santana sober immediately as the voice of Holly Holliday fills the cubicle. She leans her shoulder against the entryway and folds her arms over her chest. "Word travels fast, huh, Karofsky?"

Dave's face reddens, and Santana cracks a grin. He's always been a bit intimidated by Holly's colorful personality, and Santana gets it, really she does, but Santana fucking adores Holly; she couldn't ask for a better boss.

"Why the extension, Holly?" She asks curiously.

Holly sighs irritably, but when she opens her mouth to speak, Santana's cell phone vibrates loudly on her desk. Holly quirks an eyebrow at the offending device, and Santana pointedly ignores the sound. She hopes her blush doesn't show as she remembers the very naughty pictures that she's been on the receiving end of all day.

"It's not important," she assures when Holly doesn't continue.

Holly smirks like she knows exactly what the nature of the interruption is, but she doesn't comment. "Another team fell behind," she finally says, very clearly agitated. Her eyes find Sebastian's across the room and he scowls at her before turning his eyes back to his monitor. Santana shakes her head. She should have known; Sebastian is always causing problems, one way or another. "Anyways, enjoy the extension, but don't get too comfortable, sweet cheeks. This won't happen every time." She winks at Santana and Dave, then crooks a finger at the latter. "Karofsky, my office please."

Dave obediently follows Holly, and as soon as they're gone, Santana dives for her phone, eager to see what her girlfriend has sent her this time.

_Britt-Britt (1:38 pm): emergency come home asap_

Santana frowns at the screen. Brittany's been away with Puck on yet another business trip – hence the influx of pictures over the last several days – and had hinted that she'd be home early, but Santana had assumed she still had at least another night to wait until her girl was home.

And _emergency_? Brittany surely hasn't been home long enough for something to go wrong.

This is either a very poorly disguised way to get Santana home for sweet lady kisses…or Brittany put tin foil in the microwave again.

What if she's severely burned herself like last year, when the two of them had attempted to make Shannon a special Mother's Day breakfast?

Oh god, what if Brittany burned the apartment complex down?

Santana sighs, completely torn.

On one hand, she cannot afford to waste any more time on this project. She knows she should text back, ask Brittany to get Shannon or Quinn if it's that big of an emergency.

But on the other hand, if this is a veiled request for sweet lady kisses, Brittany will be upset, and Santana will regret missing the opportunity; Brittany's gone a lot – especially recently – and Santana likes to cherish the time they do have together. As it is, she hasn't seen Brittany in almost a week, and while this project and the benefits that will come with its completion are super important and have been keeping her occupied during the day, her nights have been terribly lonely, even with Shannon and Kurt – who has been equally lonely – hanging around.

(There's only so many times that Kurt can ask her if she thinks that Puck and Brittany are sleeping together behind their backs before she cracks and forbids him from contacting her ever again. He may have his doubts about Puck, but Santana has complete faith that their numerous business trips are just that – business trips.

And there are only so many nights that Santana can fall asleep hugging Brittany's pillow before the familiar scent completely wears away, leaving her with nothing to comfort her.)

And goddammit what if something is actually wrong?

She'll never be able to live with herself if anything happens to Brittany. Or Shannon.

Panic clutches at her chest and fuels her to grab her coat and rush from the cubicle. She only pauses long enough to let Holly know that she's leaving, and she knows that the look on her face is enough to convince Holly that something is wrong.

Her heels clip noisily on the sidewalk as she rushes from the building and begins her three block trek home. The New York air is frigid, and she pulls her coat closer to her body. She really likes New York, but it's almost too cold for her tastes.

Mercedes and Sam had had the right idea, venturing out to Los Angeles. Sam had been super excited; he hadn't really said anything, but something had told Santana that he was a West Coast guy and had been eager to return.

The rest of them, on the other hand, had taken an instant liking to New York.

Rachel fit right in with the Broadway crowd, and her 'crazy ass Broadway dream' was well on its way to becoming a reality. She still had a ways to go, but her talents were being recognized, and Santana knows it's only a matter of time before she hits the big time. Quinn – along with Mike – weaseled into a community college, both earning credits to hopefully one day move up to tackle law school. They both want to work up to someday, hopefully, help with the abolishment of sex slavery.

(There's also the matter of Quinn and Rachel's constant bickering that leads them to break up and make up every other month, but Santana likes to ignore that mess of a soap opera. Kurt and Mercedes are more equipped to deal with it than she is. 

Plus she just doesn't care that much.)

Kurt managed to make a niche for himself as a fashion journalist, and Tina works with him, but Santana has no idea what she does (maybe some sort of Asian advice column? Who knows.)

She thinks that Puck might be a hitman. Or a bounty hunter.

Or maybe he's Brittany's bodyguard? (Why else would they go on so many business trips together?)

Again, Santana has no idea what the fuck Puckerman gets up to, but she thinks it might be a _if I told you I'd have to kill you_ situation.

And Brittany. Santana smiles as she thinks of her girlfriend. Her _math genius_ girlfriend. Brittany was in high demand these days, everyone wanting to get a taste of the mathematical brain lurking in her beautiful skull. Her talents had been almost as surprising to them as Santana's severe peanut allergy.

(Santana pats the pocket of her jacket to ensure she still has her EpiPen – one near death experience and a frantic trip to the emergency room is enough for one life time.)

Her building comes into view, and Santana breaks into a light jog, thankful that the building is still standing – and not on fire, like she'd feared.

The warmth of the lobby envelopes her, and she sighs in relief when she hits the elevator bank to make her way to the ninth floor.

She leans against the back wall of the elevator car and closes her eyes.

The first few months in New York had been rough and scary. They'd all had to learn how to make it on their own, and sure, they had each other, but none of them – including Shannon – really knew how to be an independent adult. And the added factor of always feeling like someone was after them didn't help much. Every bump in the night had left Brittany and Santana scrambling for anything to use as weapons, thinking that surely Pierce had finally sent someone after them.

It had taken them well over a year to fully feel safe, and longer than that before Shannon would allow them to go anywhere by themselves.

The doors slide open in front of her and she rushes out, passing Quinn and Rachel's door, and digging her key out of her pocket.

"Britt?" She calls out once her door is open. She closes the door behind her and takes a tentative whiff of the air; okay, so nothing is burning. That's good.

So Brittany just wants sweet lady kisses. Santana huffs; she's fine with that, but they seriously need to work out a code word or something.

But okay awesome. She can't really be angry. She's about to get all kinds of sexed up. Who could be angry?

Definitely not Santana Lopez.

Santana sheds her coat and heels in the entry hall, leaving her in only her tight purple dress. "Brittany?" She calls out again.

She steps further into the apartment and leans into the kitchen. "Shannon?" She tries, just in case; Shannon has walked in on them before, and Santana wants to be absolutely sure she's not home before proceeding to the bedroom. When she gets no answer from her mother figure, Santana does an internal happy dance; Shannon must be at the rec center, interacting and playing with the kids.

She gets her girl all to herself for the afternoon. And not a moment too soon; even with her despair over work distracting her, the ache between her legs has been constantly growing since Brittany had sent her first picture earlier in the day.

But when she peeks into the living room, she pauses.

The woman standing before her, nervously wringing her hands together, is most definitely not Brittany. Wearing Santana's sweatpants and t-shirt, the woman looks emaciated, but other than obviously being scared, she seems to have nothing else wrong with her.

Santana's heart hammers in her chest painfully and she blinks, ashamed that it's taken her a second to recognize the woman.

"Mami?"

She used to pray every night for this moment to come, but after almost seven years without it happening, she's started praying for her to be in a good, loving home.

On dark nights, when Brittany was gone and she was lonely and her emotions were running high, she'd prayed that the woman was dead, for she feared that the alternative was much, much worse.

Santana blinks again, expecting the figure of Maribel Lopez to disappear.

But she doesn't.

She's just staring at Santana, looking just as disbelieving as Santana feels.

Santana takes a hesitant step forward, afraid that any sudden movements will actually make her mother disappear. "Mami?" She whimpers again.

Maribel seems at a loss for words, and when her knees wobble, Santana rushes forward, wrapping her arms around Maribel's waist tightly, holding her close. Maribel's arms wind around her shoulders, fingers digging almost painfully into Santana's back, holding her closer than Santana had ever thought was possible.

"Santana," Maribel chokes out. She presses a kiss to Santana's head, then her ear before crying out, "Oh my…Mija. You're alive! You're okay!"

Santana wants to tell her mother that she's been okay for a really long time, but she can't speak. Every time she opens her mouth, the only thing that falls from her lips is broken sobs.

Together, arms still tangled, Santana and Maribel sink to the floor, their legs no longer able to support them.

Santana quickly loses track of how long they sit together, rocking, sobbing, Maribel pressing kisses wet with tears to Santana's hair.

When she finally pulls away from her mother, eyes red, makeup smeared, she takes several deep breaths before she speaks. "How did you get here? How did you find me?" If there had been any way for her to find her mother, she would have done it in a heartbeat; she had been sure that it was impossible, though, and even if it hadn't been, she would have never known where to start. A fresh wave of tears hits her and she laughs without even knowing why. "God, did I fall and hit my head? Is this a dream?"

Maribel reaches forward and cups Santana's cheeks tenderly, wiping her tears with her thumbs, and Santana whimpers and leans into her touch. "If it's a dream, Mija, I hope I never wake up," she whispers. "My Santana. You're all grown up. You're…so beautiful."

Santana covers her mother's hands with her own and pulls them away from her face, but doesn't release them, instead holding them tightly between their laps. "How did you find me?" She asks again.

Maribel shakes her head and smiles. "I didn't," she says, almost sounding regretful that she hadn't found Santana on her own. "This man and woman…they were posing as husband and wife. My Master rear-ended their car in a parking lot in Kentucky, and they took me from him."

Santana shakes her head, now thoroughly confused. "Man and woman? Husband and wife? But who-" She stops for a moment when it hits her. "Brittany and Puck," she breathes.

Maribel nods quickly; she hadn't been able to remember their names, but she's glad that Santana at least knows them. "Yes! They never would tell me what was going on, only that they've been looking for me for a long time. The woman, Brittany, brought me here, gave me these clothes, and asked me to wait. She said she had a surprise for me." She sniffles as she begins to tear up again. "Ay dios, it's the best surprise…"

Santana wonders briefly if this is what all of Brittany and Puck's business trips had been about. She wonders where Brittany is now, but she's thankful for the time alone with her mother.

Her mother.

Who is alive and in front of her and holding her.

Santana takes a shaky breath. "I've missed you so much," she whispers, scared that an octave higher will result in another uncontrollable bought of tears.

"Oh, Mija," Maribel whispers just as quietly. "I love you, Santana."

Santana knows that if she opens her mouth to respond, her voice will break, rendering her words indiscernible, but she has to try. Memories of the last time she'd seen her mother flash through her mind, of Maribel screaming to Santana that she loves her, to never, _ever_ forget that she loves her, of Santana being too panicked, too upset, to say the words back.

Santana had wished every day that she could go back to that day, if only to tell her Mami that she loves her too.

Santana doesn't know the circumstances of Maribel being with her – did Brittany steal her?! The thought makes panic seize her momentarily again – so she knows that she needs to make every moment count.

"I love you too, Mami." The words are thick, but uttered with as much conviction as she can muster, and she knows that Maribel heard, that she understands.

For several hours they talk, first in their places on the living room floor, then in the kitchen.

Santana talks briefly about her life before Pierce bought her, but doesn't go into much detail; she will, later, if she gets the chance, if her mother wants to hear it, but right now she doesn't want to waste the opportunity that she has been given.

It's when she comes to the day that Brian Pierce bought her that Santana finds herself unable to slow her words or force the smile from her face. She tells her mother about Shannon and Pierce and all of her friends. About the Lima Bean and the duck pond and the fair. She tells about learning to read and write, about dancing and Sir Waddlesworth and Lord Tubbington and the most amazing breadsticks she's ever had.

But mostly, Santana tells her mother about Brittany, about the love and care and respect that she had received – that she continues to receive. She tells her mother about running from Brittany's psycho father and making a life for themselves here, in New York, with Shannon and their friends.

For some reason, though, Santana can't bring herself to tell her about being free. It doesn't feel like the right time, though she's not quite sure why, and she decides to listen to her gut.

The last six years have been uneventful for Maribel, the typical life of a slave, locked in basements and closets, and it's obvious to Santana; her mother is pale, and had long since finished the two plates of food that Santana had given her. Her mother mostly focuses on the last couple of days, driving across a handful of states with Brittany and Puck, sharing a hotel room with them – but getting her own bed while Brittany took the other and Puck took the couch – and being allowed to eat whenever and whatever she wanted. They'd never laid a finger on her, Maribel marvels, and had respected her wish to remain mostly silent through the trip. She'd observed them, trying to find their angle, trying to calculate when they'd turn on her, but through the entire trip back, they'd acted more like teenagers on a road trip than the ruthless Masters she'd pegged them for. They didn't even seem like the two people who had taken her from her Master.

Santana giggles softly. "Yeah, when they get together, they pretty much need a chaperone at all times."

It's nearly eight, and Santana is just about to text Brittany and ask her to come home when she hears the door open. Santana keeps her seat by her mother, who has suddenly frozen, having heard the door. It would seem that no matter how much Santana talked Brittany up, and how much time Maribel spent with her over the last couple of days, she's still mistrustful.

Santana's patience is soon rewarded; a blonde head pokes around the corner, looking around curiously.

"Mami, it's okay," she says quietly, willing her mother to relax while never taking her eyes off of her grinning girlfriend. "It's just Brittany."

Brittany's entire body comes into view and she looks entirely affronted. " _Just_ Brittany?" She balks. "Is that what I am now?" She's holding something in her left hand, and Santana's eyes immediately snap to it.

A thick manila envelope.

Santana stares at Brittany, her eyes wide with wonder over how amazing she is, and Brittany merely offers a small smile at the attention she's receiving.

Santana pulls her mother to her feet, her stiff posture not going unnoticed. "Mami, please," she pleads softly. "You don't have to be afraid of Brittany. And I know you've met, but I want to officially introduce you to Brittany Pierce. My girlfriend."

Brittany smiles brightly and sticks her hand out. "I've wanted to meet you for so long, Ms. Lopez," she gushes slightly.

Maribel eyes the hand warily, but instead of shaking it, she turns back to Santana. "Mija, I don't understand. Your girlfriend…she's our Master?"

Over Maribel's shoulder, Santana sees Brittany tense and cringe at the word, but she can't get past what her mother said.

"Master?" She asks, her question more directed at Brittany.

Brittany steps towards Santana and hands her the envelope. She presses a kiss to Santana's cheek and whispers, "I'll explain later." Then, she disappears around the corner again.

Santana waits until she hears the bathroom door close before gesturing for Maribel to sit again. She slides the envelope across the table, but Maribel leans away from it, as if it's a snake, coiled and ready to launch at her.

"I've already seen this," she mumbles. Santana can tell that she's struggling with something, so she remains quiet, waiting for her mother to speak again. "Freedom Contract? How can they do this to me?"

Santana draws her eyebrows together. "Mami?"

"It's cruel," Maribel adds, as if that explains her turmoil. She gestures wildly at the envelope. "They dangle this in front of me. In front of us. The promise of freedom…but it's all a lie. I'm a slave. It's what I am, what I'll always be. The world will never look at me any differently. How can a piece of paper change anything?"

Santana shakes her head, understanding where her mother's confusion is coming from. This life is all the Maribel has ever known, and Santana knows she's going to have to probably explain things more than once. "Mami," she begins. She reaches forward for Maribel's hands. "It's not a lie. It's not a test or a joke or anything else that you're thinking. Three years ago, Brittany brought me these papers, Mami. She did this for me. Mami…I'm not a slave anymore."

Maribel's eyes widen and she takes her hands back; Santana is disappointed, but not entirely shocked. "Mija…you're…you're…"

"I'm free, Mami," Santana whispers, feeling tears well up again; she'll never tire of hearing or saying those words. "I've been free for three years."

Maribel shakes her head, still not fully comprehending. "But…surely nothing has changed?"

Santana grins. "Everything has changed," she admits. She gestures around her. "I have a job, with a promotion around the corner. I have an apartment and a girlfriend. No one lays a finger on me if I don't want them to. Mami…everything changes. For the better."

Maribel shakes her head again, but Santana knows that, this time, she's only trying to piece everything together. "So…this isn't a joke?"

Santana laughs lightly and pushes the envelope closer to Maribel. "No, Mami. It is legitimate freedom. No strings attached."

Maribel stares in wonder as Santana removes the papers from the envelope for her. "How does this even work, Santana? I mean, I've heard of Freedom Contracts but…I never thought they could actually exist."

Santana rises from her chair to retrieve a pen. When she returns, she lays the pen on top of the papers, not wanting to rush Maribel. "All you need to do is sign it," Santana says. "Brittany and I will do the rest. There's a lot of legal stuff attached – like getting you a social security number – but you don't have to worry with any of it. Brittany and I have done it before, and so have our friends, so we can take care of all of it."

But Maribel still seems torn about something. "Mija…"

"Mami, please," Santana begs, growing desperate. "It opens a world of possibilities."

Maribel smiles sadly at Santana. "Mija…I've been a slave my entire life. It's all I know. How can I be anything else? What will I do? Where will I go?"

Santana's face falls, but before she can attempt to reassure Maribel, Brittany's voice behind her startles her. "Ms. Lopez, you can live here with us." Santana turns wide, hopeful eyes to her girlfriend; it's what she'd wanted, but she had known she'd have to discuss it with Brittany. Brittany places a hand on Santana's shoulder and squeezes. "I've already spoken with Shannon. She doesn't mind sharing her bedroom if you don't. We'll just have to get another bed."

Maribel is completely speechless, Santana notes, slightly amused at the sight; there was never a time during her childhood that her mother was speechless, and the fact that Brittany could bring her to that state in just a couple of seconds is amazing. Santana watches with baited breath as Maribel looks through the Freedom Contract carefully, reassuring herself that there are no hidden stipulations, no loopholes, and no strings attached – her mother is no lawyer, but Santana knows that even just scanning the documents briefly would be able to tell Maribel that there was nothing fishy about them.

When Maribel is finished and seems satisfied, she puts the pen to the beginning of the signature line.

And pauses.

Santana waits for a moment, but when her mother doesn't move, she mumbles, "Mami?" To her horror, Maribel drops the pen and looks up with tears in her eyes. Brittany's grip on Santana's shoulder tightens as Maribel gazes over Santana's shoulder to her. "Mami, what-"

She's cut off when Maribel stands abruptly. She approaches Brittany, standing almost chest-to-chest with her, and Brittany releases Santana's shoulder to take a fearful step back. Santana watches, confused – and a little afraid for Brittany's safety – and resists the urge to wrap her fingers around Maribel's wrist.

"Are you gonna beat me up?" Brittany asks, her voice small, and Santana is glad that she does, because she's starting to wonder the same thing.

What had Brittany done to upset Maribel? Surely her Freedom Contract is no different than Santana's had been.

Maribel swallows, then asks, "You would do all of this? For…for me?"

Brittany seems to relax a bit when she realizes that her girlfriend's seemingly angry mother is not going to hit her. She'd spent a lot of time with the woman on the journey home, and though Maribel had rarely spoken unless spoken to – and often in one word answers – Brittany had grown to really like her.

It would have sucked to be decked by her in her own kitchen.

Brittany nods confidently, her eyes never wavering from Maribel's. "Yes, ma'am," she says, delighted at how Maribel's eyes widen at the formal, respectful term, the way that it has every time Brittany has addressed her in similar matters over the past few days. "All of this. And more. You're family, and I want you to be happy, Ms. Lopez. Happy and free."

"And you love my daughter?"

Brittany is taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, but she doesn't hesitate to nod and say, "With all my heart."

The last word is barely out of her mouth before Maribel is launching herself at Brittany. Brittany panics for a moment, sure that she's said something to make the woman snap and hit her, but the sensation that she feels next is thankfully not a fist to the nose.

Maribel's arms are around her waist, hugging her tightly. Brittany's sure that the shocked look on Santana's face mirrors her own perfectly as she wraps her arms loosely around Maribel's shoulders; she's unsure if Maribel would be comfortable with any prolonged, affectionate squeezes, so she refrains from any of that.

Her suspicions are confirmed seconds later when Maribel begins to squirm and pull away. Maribel only holds her for a moment longer, giving herself enough time to leave a sincere whispered, "Thank you," in the small space between them.

Santana grabs Brittany's hand and pulls her closer, allowing Brittany's arm to slide around her shoulders as Maribel reclaims her chair and picks up the pen.

As Maribel signs her name to the Freedom Contract, Santana jams her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep her tears at bay.

Brittany, Santana, and Shannon have been a strong family; now, though, Santana knows they'll be even stronger.

\-----

With Shannon staying with Quinn for the night – apparently she and Rachel are semi-off-again – Maribel is free to use Shannon's bed for the night.

"We can go tomorrow so you can pick your own, if you want," Brittany offers as she and Santana help Maribel get situated.

Maribel smiles at Brittany and cups her cheek affectionately for a second. "I'd love that," she says.

Brittany smiles back, then leans over to kiss Santana's cheek. "I'm beat," she says. When Maribel turns away, she drags her fingertips down Santana's arm suggestively. "Don't be too long?" Santana winks, and Brittany pulls her hand away, grinning. "Goodnight, Ms. Lopez."

When Santana is sure that Brittany is out of earshot, she turns to watch her mother climb into Shannon's plush bed. "How long until you let her stop calling you 'Ms. Lopez'?" She asks with a smirk, knowing that Maribel is just reveling in all of the respect that Brittany is showering her with, especially now that she knows that Brittany is harmless.

"Let me have this, Santana," Maribel says, false sternness lacing her words. Santana raises an eyebrow, but is secretly elated to hear the tone of voice; she really had missed everything about her Mami. Maribel breaks into a mischievous grin and clasps her hands together in absolute delight. "Just a couple more times," she promises. She taps her chin thoughtfully, and Santana knows that whatever is about to come out of her mouth is going to be designed to absolutely _mortify_ her. "Do you think she'd be okay with calling me 'Mami' too?"

Santana groans at the insinuation and throws her head back. "Mami," she whines, drawing the word out petulantly. She really hopes her mother doesn't ask Brittany to call her 'Mami'…not yet, at least.

Maribel shrugs innocently. "Can't a mother dream?" She asks, her words hinting at stubbornness, but her tone telling Santana that she's only joking.

Santana shakes her head. "Soon," she mumbles, hoping that her mother didn't hear, but knowing that she did by the way her eyes widen questioningly. She leans over and hugs Maribel before she can respond. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispers. She feels a kiss pressed to her temple and she pulls away.

"Ay dios mio if I wake up and this has all been a dream…" Maribel trails off, but Santana can still hear mumbled, colorful Spanish expletives falling from her mouth.

"Goodnight, Mami," she sing-songs.

"Te amo, nene."

Santana pauses at the door and smiles warmly at Maribel.

"I love you, too, Mami."

\-----

Santana enters their bedroom, closing and locking the door quietly behind her. She leans back against it and watches Brittany unpack the duffle bag on their bed.

"Can I ask you something?" Santana asks quietly. Having not heard her enter, Brittany jumps slightly and whips around, her arms full of clothes.

Her face softens when she realizes that it's Santana, and she continues to put her things away. "Anything," she replies, and though Santana can't see her face, she can hear the smile in Brittany's voice; it's obvious that she's as happy to be home as Santana is to have her.

"Is this what your…business trips have been about?"

Brittany halts her movements and turns so that she can speak directly to Santana. "Yes," she says quietly.

"For almost two years?" Santana raises an eyebrow; she has no doubts about Brittany's intentions, however she does feel a bit concerned about the lengths her girlfriend has obviously gone for this.

Brittany nods. She drops the handful of items she's holding and walks over to Santana. Santana pushes off of the door and meets Brittany halfway, sighing in contentment when Brittany's arms finally wind around her waist, holding their bodies close. She lays her head on Brittany's chest, directly over her heart, letting its gentle thrum soothe her.

"We didn't have much to go on," Brittany starts quietly, so that she doesn't disturb the peace surrounding them. "So the first couple of trips were hard. We had to let people know exactly what and who we were looking for, and to do that we had to make connections. But once we did the tips started coming in. And we started getting closer and closer. Finally we got a really solid lead that led us to Kentucky. We weren't exactly sure where to go when we got there. We had the guy's name and an old yearbook picture, but…Kentucky is a big place."

As Brittany grows more excited recalling her journey, Santana listens as her heart rate increases, and she hums to let Brittany know that she's still listening.

"We had given up on this trip," Brittany admits, sounding a bit guilty. "We had lunch before hitting the road. When we were leaving the restaurant parking lot, our rental car was rear-ended. When I looked in the mirror…when I saw his face looking back at me…" She trails off and exhales slowly.

Santana raises her head, looking into Brittany's eyes. "What if you hadn't been that lucky? What if you had found him under different circumstances?"

Brittany thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "The plan was to pay him off. Maybe offer to buy him another slave in her place. Everyone has a price," she says quietly, and Santana can hear the shame lurking in her words. She rubs Brittany's arms and nods. "So when I told Puck that that was the guy, Puck jumped at the opportunity to play dirty. Puck told him that we were married and I'm pregnant. I faked a back injury and we threatened to sue; with the guy's legal history, we figured we would have it in the bag. And we were right."

Santana takes a moment to smooth her hands across Brittany's shoulders, down her chest and sides, and then twisting them in the shirt at Brittany's hips, keeping her close. She bites her lip before asking, "So does this mean that you won't be leaving as much anymore?"

Brittany frowns adorably at the sadness creeping into Santana's tone. "I'm not going to leave ever again," she answers quietly. A slow smile splits Santana's lips, and she knows that her eyes are shining brilliantly. Regardless, Brittany looks troubled, and she strokes Santana's lower back through her dress as she asks, "Are you mad at me?"

Santana surges to her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to Brittany's hard and fast. She pulls away after only a second, until there is only a hairsbreadth between them, leaving Brittany panting with her eyes closed tightly. "Brittany," Santana says seriously, waiting until Brittany's eyes flutter open to look at her. "How could I be mad?"

Brittany takes a shuddering breath, and Santana can't help but wonder how long Brittany has been living with the fear that Santana is angry at her. "I mean, I've been gone a lot," Brittany mutters. She tries to pull away from Santana, but Santana opens her hands to hold Brittany's hips in place, anchoring her. Brittany swallows hard. "I know you've been mostly alone and stuff, and I've kinda been lying for a while. And…I didn't want you to think me and Puck…well, you know."

Santana shakes her head and smiles softly. "Britt, I would never. I trust you," she assures, her voice strong and steady. When Brittany's eyes light up, Santana's smile widens. "You've gone through…so much trouble-" Santana breaks off as a sudden surge of fondness and love threatens to bring her to tears and steal her voice. She breathes in and out deeply for a couple of seconds until she is certain she can speak without breaking down. "And I have no words, none at all, that would ever be able to express how thankful I am for you and for everything that you do. So please…let me show you."

Brittany whimpers at the insinuation, and Santana smirks when her hips jerk forward involuntarily. Santana presses a soft kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth before tracing her lips across Brittany's jaw. When she reaches Brittany's ear, she pulls the lobe between her teeth and tugs on it lightly.

Brittany moans and slides her hands down, palming Santana's ass roughly, and Santana gasps.

She's already so wet, and they haven't even done anything; it's a true testament to how long they've been apart.

Brittany presses a kiss just below her ear, and Santana can feel her smirk. She pushes Brittany away slightly and grabs for the hem of her t-shirt. She tugs it off and throws it to the side, wasting no time leaning in to pepper kisses across Brittany's collarbones.

Santana's fingers trace across Brittany's abs, making them tremble under her light touch. Her fingers dance up and her nails scrape across the bottom of Brittany's bra as she licks between Brittany's breasts.

Brittany moans and tugs impatiently at Santana's dress. "San," she pants. "Off."

Reluctantly, Santana pulls away from Brittany's chest. She gathers her hair up and turns around. After a moment, Brittany steps closer. She places one hand on Santana's hip. She presses a kiss to the nape of Santana's neck as she slowly glides the zipper of the dress down. She pushes the dress off of Santana's shoulders, letting it puddle at Santana's feet.

Before Santana can turn back around, Brittany deftly unclasps her lacy bra, pushes it off, and slides forward to press herself against Santana's back.

Santana groans when she feels Brittany's nipples grazing the muscles of her back, realizing that Brittany had removed her own bra at some point.

Brittany winds her arms around Santana, letting her hands drift lightly over Santana's stomach, relishing how they quiver under her fingertips. "I missed you," she husks in Santana's ear, making her shiver. She reaches up and brushes Santana's hair to the side, then she attacks Santana's neck, biting and sucking, and Santana groans again.

Brittany trails her hand up and cups Santana's breast, and Santana's knees nearly buckle when Brittany's thumb brushes across her nipple.

"Britt," she gasps, throwing an arm up and over her shoulder to grip the back of Brittany's neck and pull her into a bruising kiss, ignoring the awkward angle as their lips slide together, an act made simple by years of familiarity.

Brittany rolls Santana's nipple between her thin fingers before reaching over to give the other the same attention. Santana pulls away from Brittany's lips and whines.

Suddenly, Brittany's free hand shoots downward and into Santana's underwear, her middle finger immediately finding Santana's slit and tracing up until she reaches Santana's clit. Santana cries out softly as she circles the bundle of nerves tightly.

She's thankful that Brittany thought to move her arm around her torso because she knows she wouldn't be able to stand without Brittany holding her up.

But then she remembers that this isn't how this is supposed to go. She's supposed to be thanking Brittany.

Santana's eyes pop open and she grips Brittany's wrist, keeping her from stroking her slit again. "Britt, wait," she says, her voice low. Brittany freezes against her, and Santana turns her head to give her a soft kiss, reassuring her that everything is fine. "I want…I want…"

Brittany smiles against her shoulder. She withdraws her hand, but doesn't step away. Instead, she reaches up to remove Santana's hand from her head. She maneuvers the hand so that only her index and middle fingers are sticking up, then moves them into Santana's underwear.

Santana gasps when she realizes what Brittany is doing, and when Brittany guides her fingers to slide through her own slick folds, her hips buck, searching for more friction. "Britt," she begs, suddenly wanting Brittany's fingers on her once again.

"You feel that, baby?" Brittany breathes out, and Santana feels a tug in her abdomen at the words. "Feel how wet you are?" Santana whimpers and nods. Brittany continues to guide her fingers, pushing them into her opening slightly a couple of times before circling her clit once. She pulls Santana's hand out of her underwear and spins Santana around, pressing the length of their bodies together.

Santana watches, jaw slack, as Brittany guides her fingers into her mouth, tongue twirling around the digits as she licks them clean. "Fuck," she chokes out, and Brittany releases her fingers with a wet pop, licking her lips.

Brittany leans in and attaches her mouth to Santana's, pushing her tongue through immediately to let Santana taste herself. When she pulls away, she says, "Let me take care of you, San. We have all night."

Santana smiles and slides her hands into Brittany's hair. "Okay," she whispers.

Brittany grins and quickly rids both of them of the rest of their clothes. When she's finally standing straight again, Santana takes the opportunity to lay her hands on Brittany's hips and lean in to suck Brittany's nipple into her mouth.

Brittany hisses and her hands fly to Santana's hair, holding her in place. She throws her head back and mutters, "Oh my god." Santana moves to the other breast. She nudges her cheek against Brittany's nipple, then laves her tongue against it lazily, swirling slightly before taking it into her mouth and biting down gently. " _Ungh_."

Brittany's hips jerk and her pelvis hits Santana's. Santana grunts, and Brittany's nipple slips from her mouth.

Brittany tugs on Santana's hair until she's standing upright again, then she pulls Santana forward. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, tongues caressing each other, and Brittany walks Santana backwards until her back hits the door.

Brittany pulls away and drops to her knees. " _Fuck_ ," Santana whimpers, and Brittany lays wet open-mouthed kisses along her hipbones and her lower stomach. She combs her fingers through Brittany's hair adoringly. "I love you."

Brittany's kisses stop and she looks up, her eyes connecting with Santana's. She holds Santana's gaze as she kisses down the inside of one thigh, and then up the inside of the other. She lifts Santana's leg and hooks it over her shoulder.

Santana's breath quickens, her anticipation rising.

Brittany tilts her head slightly and swipes her tongue through Santana's hot folds. Santana's mouth falls open and her head hits the door. She reaches blindly for Brittany's hand, and when she finds it, she clasps it tightly over her hip as Brittany continues to draw her tongue over her center, swirling and dipping and writing words that Santana can't make out until Santana is trembling and begging.

"Britt," she gasps, her stomach muscles clenching. She tightens her leg around Brittany's shoulders, pulling Brittany closer. "Please…I-I need-"

Brittany pulls away and Santana cries out in frustration. "I know, baby," she says softly. The hand that isn't holding Santana's sneaks around and Brittany prods at Santana's entrance with two fingers. Santana arches off of the door when they enter her, curling as they bottom before dragging out agonizingly slow.

"F-faster," Santana begs, her hips thrusting down as Brittany thrusts up. "God, Britt, _harder_." She thinks she hears Brittany chuckle, but suddenly Brittany twists her wrist, her fingers stroking just where Santana's wants her to be. Her eyes roll back as Brittany continues to thrust in, curl, and stroke.

"C'mon, San," Brittany coaxes. "Cum for me." She quickens her thrusts, and then her tongue is on Santana's clit and Santana stills as her orgasm hits her, stealing her breath. Her body goes rigid, and Brittany continues to thrust into her, slowly bringing her down.

Santana's leg falls from Brittany's shoulder, and Brittany kisses her way back up Santana's body. She wraps her arms around Santana and holds her. Santana leans against Brittany, thankful for the support while her legs stop trembling.

"You okay?" Brittany whispers into her hair.

Santana's tongue darts out, wetting her lips before she says, "You just wait. In five to ten minutes I am gonna rock your world."

Brittany laughs. She bends over and scoops Santana into her arms effortlessly, carrying her to the bed.

\-----

Later, as Brittany lies sleeping on Santana's chest, Santana thinks back to her earlier conversation with her mother.

_Do you think she'd be okay with calling me 'Mami' too?_

_Soon._

She reaches over and pulls open the draw of her nightstand. She shifts her hand around blindly until her fingers graze the velvet exterior of the box she finds tucked in the back of the drawer.

Tomorrow, a new phase of their lives will begin.

Tomorrow, they'll file her mother's paper work.

Tomorrow, she'll ask Brittany to marry her.


	14. Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way that the story ends is the way that I had originally intended for it to end. However, halfway through I thought _what if…_ and this is what spawned from it.
> 
> This is an alternate ending. It is compliant with the story up until chapter twelve when Sue Sylvester, Shelby Corcoran, and a third woman, Terri Del Monico (who is probably ooc because I never actually saw any episodes with her in them, sorry), engage in a bid war for Santana; that is where this story picks up.
> 
> (If anyone likes to listen to related music while they read, might I suggest the song I listened to while writing this, _To Find You_ by Lea Michele. Also if you want to die of heartbreak, _Goodbye_ by Avril Lavigne is a good one for this okay byyyyeeee.)
> 
> Warnings: mentions of violence, a little rough treatment, angst, major Bike brotp, and mentions of Alzheimer's disease (I don’t know if that would be triggering, but just in case).

Schuester is speaking again; Shelby and Sue have conceded to the third woman.

Santana allows her tears to flow freely. A sob rips from her, and she can't find it in her to be ashamed of her emotional display.

Her heart is breaking in her chest; she would rather Pierce ripped it from her, still beating, and stepped on it.

It would be less painful than what she's feeling in this moment, watching all of her hopes, her dreams, her _love_ get crushed.

Once Shuester stops speaking, once he bangs his gavel, that's it.

It's over.

Pierce releases her hair, and Santana drops her chin to her chest; Pierce has defeated her. After months of swearing that she wouldn't let him break her, he's finally gotten everything he wanted.

Santana gives up.

He's won.

Shuester's gavel hits the podium with a deafening _crack_ and Santana jumps, her head snapping up.

There are guards approaching, ensuring a clean exchange. Pierce accepts the ownership papers from Shuester as a guard unlocks Santana's shackles – she considers making a break for it, briefly, but she glances at the large crowd and realizes she'd never get away with it; they'd kill her on the spot. Pierce pushes Santana down the stairs at the side of the stage where a woman stands with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. The hard look in her eyes makes Santana swallow hard and her tears being anew.

Pierce stops a few paces from the woman and grabs Santana by the front of her hoodie, spinning her to face him. She expects him to revel in her sobs, her tear-soaked face, but his face is almost as empty as Santana feels. "I always get what I want, Santana," he whispers hollowly, and her jaw clenches as he calls her by her name for the first – and probably the last – time. Santana knows that it isn't true though; he may have gotten rid of her, but his actions certainly won't be gaining Brittany's favor. "This is…for the best. I…I'm sorry." He looks over her head, towards the double doors, and Santana sobs harder when realization hits her.

He thought Brittany would come, too.

It fact, it almost seems as if he's buying time, willing the doors to burst open.

It's almost like he regrets his decision, but is too stubborn, too stuck in his ways, to change it himself.

"I love my daughter," he continues quietly, looking back to her face.

Santana chokes back another sob to reply, "If you loved her you wouldn't have done this. Her heart is going to be broken, do you realize that?"

Pierce tries to smirk, but it looks more like a grimace. "You're no good for her."

Maybe it's true, Santana thinks sadly; she's a slave. _Just_ a slave. But she loves Brittany, and no matter what Pierce says, she knows that Brittany loves her too. They were happy.

Santana thought it was enough.

It should have been enough.

Santana sniffles and looks him in the eye. "And neither are you," she bites back, putting as much hatred behind the statement as she can muster.

She swears she sees Pierce's bottom lip tremble – he looks so much like Brittany that another miserable sob rips from Santana – before he turns her again viciously and marches her towards her increasingly impatient new owner.

Pierce stretches his hand towards the woman as they draw near. "Brian Pierce," he introduces himself.

The woman looks at his hand disdainfully and grabs it lightly with only her fingers; it appears as a dainty gesture, but it's quite obvious that she's attempting to touch Pierce as little as possible. "Terri Del Monico," she answers, voice dripping with faux sweetness.

Pierce begins to hand over Santana's ownership papers, but retracts them as Terri reaches forward, his other hand tightening in the back of Santana's hoodie. "I just have…one request."

Watching from under the cover of her hair, Santana sees Terri quirk her eyebrow. "Oh? What, do you want visitation rights or something?" She snarks.

"No," Pierce says, obviously displeased, but whether it's with Terri's tone or the jab itself, Santana doesn't know. "I want you to change her name."

Santana's head snaps up, her bloodshot eyes glaring daggers into his face, wishing that she could kill him with just her eyes. Surely he can't actually want that. Her name is the last thing she has that her mother gave her. If he takes away her name, he takes away the last little piece of her that Santana has been able to cling to.

If he takes away her name, Brittany can't find her.

Santana feels like she can't breathe; of course that's what he's doing. He wants it to be impossible for Brittany to ever find her.

She turns her head towards him. "Please," she begs, teeth clenched against the cry she wants to let out. "Please, don't."

Terri reaches forward and yanks on the leash around Santana's neck. Santana stumbles forward, gagging as the material snaps tight against her throat. Terri pushes Santana's head down. "Quiet, slave," she demands coldly.

Santana rolls her head, trying to work out the whiplash, and clenches her hands nervously in front of her.

She'd almost forgotten how to be a slave. Quiet. Head down. No sudden movements.

Terri turns back to Pierce as Shuester continues the auction. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

Pierce shrugs. "I don't care," he says, his voice quiet.

Terri faces Santana again and snaps her fingers where she assumes Santana's line of sight to be. "Slave, look at me." Santana swallows hard, grits her teeth, and does as she's told.

Wow this obeying shit is going to be hard to get used to again.

She's been treated like a human for so long; she's out of practice.

Terri looks her up and down, eyes appraising, before she smirks. "She kind of looks like a…Maria," she says slowly. She lets her eyes rove over Santana once more, then pushes Santana's head down again. "Maria Ramos. Ooooh, that has a nice ring to it."

Pierce grunts in what sounds like approval.

Santana hates him. She hates him more than any of her other Masters. More than the man who acted as her father for fifteen years. More than the teen girl with the skateboard that had spilled her scalding hot coffee on Santana last month at the Lima Bean and had run away without an apology.

Santana hates Brian Pierce more than she's ever hated anything or anyone in her entire life.

In fact, she's certain that there is not enough hatred in her body to hate him adequately.

Terri and Pierce converse for a short period; Terri hands over a wad of cash thicker than Santana's bicep, and Pierce steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets, watching.

Terri leans in and runs a rough hand down Santana's chest, and Santana tenses; she's not quite sure what Terri meant to accomplish with the action, since it wasn't really a grope, but Santana squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can anyways, dreading…well, dreading the rest of her life.

"I'm not going to bind your hands," Terri says, mouth close to Santana's ear to be heard over Shuester, sounding like she's doing Santana a huge favor. "But if you attempt _anything_ , I will not hesitate to strike you. Nod if you understand." Santana jams her tongue to the roof of her mouth, fighting tears, and nods numbly. Satisfied, Terri takes the leash in her hand again and turns to Pierce. "Good day, Mr. Pierce. Come along, Maria."

Terri drags Santana through the crowd, and Santana chances a look over her shoulder to Pierce. His shoulders are hunched, his expression unreadable.

Santana frowns deeply at him and turns her head forward again. She crosses her arms defensively over her chest, remembering that someone had had the balls to grope her the last time she'd made this trek.

Terri pushes the right door open and the cold night air hits Santana like a wall. Terri's car is parked at the furthest end of the parking lot, and as she's led to it, Santana's head pivots wildly, searching for any sign of Brittany's car.

For any sign of Brittany.

Terri opens the back door of her car and steps aside, allowing Santana the opportunity to get in herself, instead of being shoved in.

Santana tries to look around one last time, buying time, just in case, but Terri snaps her fingers impatiently and points to the backseat of the car. Santana sighs in defeat, shoulders slumping, and crawls in.

If she had a tail, she knows that it would be between her legs.

Terri prattles on about Santana's duties as she maneuvers out of her parking space and through the lanes of poorly parked cars. When she reaches the exit of the parking lot, stopping to wait for traffic, she pauses her chattering to curse loudly and angrily at a speeding car that nearly takes out her mirror as it turns into the parking lot. She continues less than a second later, and Santana knows that she should listen to avoid possible future punishments, but she can't focus.

The car that had nearly side-swiped Terri's had been Brittany's car.

Santana swivels quickly in her seat, chin propped on the top of the backseats as she watches the car jerk to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. She stares longingly at it, holding her breath, torn between hoping Brittany emerges and hoping that it's someone else.

What little is left of her heart shatters when a blonde head pops from the driver's seat, face frantic as her head whips around, searching the parking lot.

Brittany seems to spot Pierce's car, and she races towards the front doors of the auction house.

All that Santana can do is watch. Terri's windows are tinted, so Brittany had not seen Santana. She can't yell out, knowing that Terri would probably beat her. And even if she did, Brittany would never hear her anyways. She could jump out and make a break for it, she thinks, but how far would she get? And would there be anything that Brittany could even do?

Besides, she doesn't belong to Brittany anymore.

She belongs to Terri.

Brittany disappears into the auction house and Terri finds a big enough gap in the traffic to pull on to the road. Santana turns to face the front of the car again. She curls into herself, burying her face in her hands, and sobs silently.

She never thought she'd hurt this much, feel this burning pain in her chest, ever again.

As Terri jabbers on, Santana takes solace in one thing.

Pierce was all wrong.

She may have been too late, but Brittany does still care.

At least, Santana thinks, she can go knowing that Brittany truly does love her enough to follow.

She just hopes Brittany knows how much Santana loves her back.

\-----

Brittany slams through the front doors of the auction house and works her way through the tight crowd, shoving bodies left and right. She'd initially planned to burst in a make a scene, but had changed her mind at the last minute, figuring that it wouldn't do her any good.

Instead, she runs up the stairs to the stage. Mr. Schue notices Brittany and cuts his sentence short. He waves away the guards that begin to advance and steps away from the microphone.

"Britt?"

Brittany's former Glee Club teacher grips her arms tightly, as though he's afraid she may keel over. "Mr. Schue," she gasps, adrenaline stealing her breath. "My dad…Santana…where…" His hands tightening on her biceps makes Brittany halt her attempts to form a coherent sentence.

The look on his face worries her.

He gestures to the side of the stage, and Brittany doesn't wait for him to speak before turning and running in that direction.

Part of her hopes her dad changed his mind.

Part of her hopes there's still time.

But the biggest part of her, the part that she's adamantly ignoring, knows the truth: she's too late.

Even with the waiting area in the back thinning out, it takes Brittany longer than she'd like to find her father. He's sitting in a corner, his head in his hands.

Alone.

Brittany clenches her jaw and marches right up to him. "Where is she?" She demands.

Pierce's head snaps up at the sound of her voice. "Britt," he mumbles. He stands and reaches out, attempting to make contact, but Brittany slaps his hand away.

"Where is Santana?" Her blue eyes bore into his matching set so intensely that he's only able to stand her stare for a few seconds before looking down to the floor.

"She's gone," he says quietly, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

Tears well in Brittany's eyes and she has to press her hand to her mouth to hold in an anguished cry.

She can't believe this is happening. Santana is her world, her everything. Without her, Brittany doesn't think she can function properly.

She feels a gaping hole open within her, feels an emptiness that she hasn't felt in months.

Pierce reaches out for her again when he sees her cheeks glisten with tears, but Brittany steps away from him. "Britt, baby…" He pulls a roll of money from his pocket and Brittany feels her lunch rise to the back of her throat; that's really all that's left of Santana? She was there one minute only to be replaced so easily by a thick roll of bills?

How can that be possible?

Pierce thrusts the money out. "We can get a new one, Britt," he pleads. "A…a more obedient one-"

He breaks off, flinching when Brittany swats the money from his hand, leaving the bills to flutter to the floor around them. "You don't get it," she seethes, voice barely above a whisper. "You just don't _understand_."

"Brittany, she was no good," Pierce says desperately, tears springing to his eyes. "She was…" He flaps his hand, frustrated that he can't think of a proper word quick enough. Finally, he says, "She was defective."

Brittany recoils, her face scrunched up in disgust; Santana is _perfect_. How dare he suggest that there is something wrong with her. "What is _defective_ about her?"

"She refused to listen to orders, she-"

"She was never given _orders_!" Brittany yells in outrage, not caring that they've gained the attention of the handful of people left in the room. "I never gave her orders because I didn't see her as a slave. She is a person; a beautiful, kind, loving person!" She glares at him, daring him to try to defend himself, but he remains silent. When Brittany continues, her voice is quieter. "You bought her to make me happy. But as soon as I finally was happy, you took her away from me." She touches her sternum, pressing the tips of her fingers into it lightly. "It hurts. It hurts as bad as when mom died. Do you remember how I told you then that it felt like the sun would never shine again? That it hurt just to be awake? Just to breathe?" His face crumples as he recalls the conversations where Brittany had repeated the words, crushing his hopes that her depression was easing every time. "It feels like that again. Except this time it's _your_ fault. How could you do this to me?"

His mouth works wordlessly for a few moments and she shakes her head at him, disbelieving, and an overwhelming feeling hits her, nearly crushing her lungs with the sudden realization.

"I hate you," she whispers brokenly, voicing her inner turmoil. His face falls immediately, a tear finally escaping the corner of his eye.

While uttering the words relieves some of the weight from her shoulders, it's not nearly enough.

It will never be enough.

Pierce falls to his knees in front of her. "Britty," he chokes out, his voice thicker than Brittany's ever heard. "You…you don't mean that."

Brittany steps back as he shuffles forward on his knees. "I'm…so in love with her," she admits to him finally. "She's my everything. And you took her away from me. I _hate_ you."

"Please," he manages to squeeze out between clenched teeth, but when he can't continue, he begins gesturing vaguely with his hands once more.

"I freed Shannon," she says, and his shocked face only marginally satisfies her. "She's moving out and so am I, so don't come home tonight." She moves to turn and walk away, but he grabs her hand. She rips away from him as though his touch is scalding. "If you come home, I'll call the police." His eyes widen comically. "You sold Santana illegally and I could easily have you prosecuted."

Then, she turns and strides away, sobbing and ignoring her father wailing her name.

\-----

Brittany doesn't remember the drive to her father's house.

She sits in the driveway, hands wrapped tightly around the wheel as she stares blankly out the windshield.

She doesn't want to go in. The silence…she won't be able to bear it.

And packing. Sorting through her things. Santana's things.

At the prospect of doing these things alone, she almost starts the car and drives to Rachel's empty handed. Maybe it would make it easier to deny, easier to pretend that Santana is still with her if she leaves their things in the house.

But she can't. She has to make sure Shannon made it out. She has to get Lord Tubbington. She has to get Sir Waddlesworth…

Brittany blinks rapidly against new tears. She clicks her seatbelt off and kicks open her door. Her limbs feel like lead as she slugs up the front path. She swallows thickly when she reaches the door, staring blankly at the wood, willing herself to open it.

The door knob is cold against her palm, and the door creaks open, revealing the entryway. The house, as she'd predicted, is silent, but the lights are still on.

"Shannon?" Brittany whispers, though she'd meant to call out. She clears her throat as she lets the door slip closed behind her. "Shannon?" She's successful in raising her voice this time, though there is no answering call in return.

When she checks the basement and sees that Shannon's meager possessions are gone, Brittany's not sure whether to be happy that Shannon is already gone and safe or sad that the woman isn't present to hold her.

She could really use a hug from Shannon right now.

Brittany sighs sadly and turns, heading first back to the first floor, then up to the second floor to pack her bags.

Unlike she did at the front door, Brittany doesn't pause at her bedroom door. She shoulders through, wanting to treat this process like a Band-Aid; get through it as quickly as possible.

_Don't think about it, just do it_.

She retrieves her suitcases and duffle bags. She grabs handfuls of clothes, underwear, and hats and throws them in blindly, not stopping to sort her things from Santana's.

She packs the full bags into her car, then returns to herd Lord Tubbington into his cat carrier. She stuffs her laptop – along with Santana's Freedom Contract – in its designated bag, then shoulders it before grabbing the cat carrier in one hand and Sir Waddlesworth in the other.

The car carrier is placed gently in the back floorboard where Brittany hopes the tight quarters won't allow for Tubbs to slide around. She moves to put Sir Waddlesworth in the front seat and something catches her eyes.

Santana's shoes.

Brittany's heart lurches painfully, her lungs constricting as she sobs. The vomit that she's managed to keep at bay so far finally surfaces, and Brittany runs to the bushes and wretches.

Brittany leans back, her palms on her knees as she catches her breath. She wipes her nose, then hurries into the house to wash her mouth out.

When she's finished, she returns to her car and begins her journey to Rachel's, wondering how she's going to tell her friends that she's failed them.

That she's failed Santana.

\-----

Shannon is pacing in Rachel's driveway when Brittany pulls up, and all of her friends are either sitting or standing in various states of disarray.

When she pulls in, those that had been sitting jump up, and those that are already standing look as though their legs are suddenly failing them.

Brittany can see that Shannon's knees are seconds from buckling; she dreads the moment that she'll pass under the bright floodlight on the side of Rachel's house, the moment they'll all see a fucking stuffed duck in her passenger seat instead of Santana.

She parks the car under the light ad cuts the engine, mere feet from her friends, but doesn't exit the car. She sits and stares at their faces as they look through her windshield, taking in their varied expressions.

Disbelief. Confusion. Sadness. Rage.

Shannon looks like her world is ending.

She looks like Brittany feels.

Finally, she opens her door and steps out slowly into the cold night air. Everyone stands, silently rooted their spots as she comes to stand in front of them. Her arms wrap protectively around her mid-drift.

Shannon is the first to break the crushing silence. "Britt…?" Her voice trembles; she's barely holding it together.

Brittany's chin quivers, and she looks to the side, not being able to stand meeting their eyes for another moment. "I…I…"

"Brittany," Quinn's voice cuts through, calm and steady. "Where's Santana?"

Her name is all that it takes for Brittany to break. Her face scrunches up and she shakes her head vigorously. "I was too late," she whispers. Her knees wobble and Shannon jumps forward, her arms wrapping under Brittany's armpits, steadying her before leading her safely to the ground. Shannon pulls Brittany's shaking frame into her lap. She cradles Brittany's head to her chest, stroking her blonde hair, and attempting to whisper comforting words. "Santana's gone," Brittany wails out as Shannon's rocks her. "Oh god, she's gone!"

Shannon's words stop abruptly as she hears sobs coming from all around her and her resolve breaks; she'd tried to be strong for all of these kids, but it was too hard. They'd lost a friend, Brittany lost her love, and Shannon? Shannon lost a daughter. She manages a final, "I'm so sorry, baby girl," before she can speak no more.

Behind them, the others cling to each other as they collectively mourn the loss of one of their own.

\-----

A week later, Brittany stands between Mike and Tina in Rachel's driveway, watching as the last of their friends' belongings are loaded into Puck's borrowed van. Mercedes, Sam, Rachel, Quinn, Puck, and Kurt stayed long enough to get their affairs in order; now, they're leaving for New York, ahead of Mike, Tina, Shannon, and Brittany.

If her heart weren't already so heavy and broken, Brittany knows that it would hurt more than it does seeing most of her friends leaving her behind.

Not that she blames them; finding Santana is her responsibility, her fight. Brittany knows that she has no right to ask them to put their lives on hold.

But Mike refused to leave without her, and Puck had wanted desperately to stay too, but she wouldn't let him.

She loves Puck and Kurt, but she knows that Mike and Tina will be way more helpful in this situation.

Puck will just want to blow shit up. Or burn her father's house to the ground.

Not that Brittany would particularly mind setting fire to something right about now, but, while it would help relieve a little frustration, it wouldn't be particularly helpful to the situation as a whole.

Rachel clasps her hands in front of her and approaches cautiously, and Brittany stuffs her hands into the pockets of her basketball shorts. Rachel's dads are letting her and Shannon occupy their basement for a small amount of rent until Brittany's business in Lima is finished, and she couldn't be more grateful.

"Have you given any further thought to pressing charges?" Rachel asks as softly as she knows how.

Most of her friends had relentless encouraged her to have her father arrested for what he did, leaving arguments such as _it would speed the process of finding her up_ ringing in Brittany's ears for days. Brittany had entertained the thought for a while – stealing a slave was a felony, and he would easily do time – but had ultimately decided against it.

Bringing charges against him would only distract from the effort of finding Santana.

Brittany shakes her head. "I'm not going to," she admits quietly.

Rachel purses her lips, clearly unimpressed and disappointed with Brittany's decision, but nods curtly anyways; she's learned in the last week not to push Brittany.

Brittany is thankful for everything that Rachel has done, but she's only had a couple of hours of sleep total in the last week, and Rachel has a special way of grating against her exhausted, heartbroken nerves.

Brittany reaches forward and takes Rachel's hand in hers briefly, squeezing it affectionately. "Thank you," is all that she whispers.

Rachel smiles and squeezes her hand in return before turning to head towards her car.

One by one the others approach to say their farewells, knowing - _hoping_ \- that the separation is only temporary, and with the promise to keep them all updated, Brittany, Mike, and Tina wave them all off.

Brittany tucks her head into the crook of Mike's neck, Tina slips under Brittany's opposite arm, and Shannon envelopes the three of them from behind as the van disappears from sight.

Shannon allows the three friends another silent moment together before patting their shoulders and ushering them back inside; she knows that Brian probably won't come looking for them after Brittany's threat to call the police, but she still feels insanely paranoid.

She's lost Santana, she can't stand the thought of losing Brittany too.

Brittany sits heavily on the couch, Mike on her right as Shannon and Tina head upstairs to give them some privacy. Brittany stares across the room, and Mike doesn't have to ask to know what she's looking so intensely at.

Santana's red and purple roses.

Mike slips his hand into Brittany's, holding it loosely. "It's not your fault."

Though her face remains stoic, Brittany's insides burn painfully. "I know," she says simply, voice low. "It's _his_." Mike nods, though he's unsure if she can see the action. "I'm gonna get her back, Mike," she swears, turning her head towards him. "I have to."

Her hand tightens around his and he tries to match the pressure. "We will, Brittany," he says, voice strong and sure. "We'll find Santana."

Her smile is small but grateful. She turns to face the flowers again.

Just like her heart, they wilt a little more every day.

\-----

**Five Months Later**

Boredom.

She is going to _die_ of boredom in fucking Louisville, Kentucky.

Santana sighs and folds another of Mr. Del Monico's shirts, irritated that the large mustard stain is still on the front. She considers just throwing the shirt out; there's a very high probability that he won't remember owning it anyways.

He can barely remember who Santana is sometimes.

She sets the shirt aside and decides to leave the rest of the laundry for later. Mr. Del Monico has been quiet for a little longer than she's comfortable with, and she knows that if he's died because she was even a little bit neglectful, Terri will see to it that Santana meets the same fate.

Santana pads slowly down the stairs and takes a moment to stick her nose in the collar of her hoodie, inhaling the comforting faint scene that still lingers. The hoodie had been Brittany's, and Santana had been wearing it the day Pierce sold her. Now, five months later, the hoodie swamps her thin frame; it's almost too unbearably hot to wear it, and it has several questionable stains on it, but as long as Brittany's scent clings to it, Santana refuses to wash it or take it off any longer than necessary.

When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she turns to find Mr. Del Monico right where she'd left him: in his recliner, mouth slightly agape as he watches _The Price Is Right_. Santana rolls her eyes when she sees drool on his chin and steps forward to wipe it off with the unused napkin from his lunch.

Unused because…yep, he's been using his shirt again. _Great_.

Mr. Del Monico is Terri's father; he's pushing eighty years old and has the early stages of Alzheimer's disease, and since Terri no longer wanted to be burdened with him, she'd bought Santana to be his caregiver.

So all-in-all he's not the worst Master; he doesn't have the strength to hit or manhandle her, and he's so old that there's nothing that he can do with his equipment. Plus, he's only yelled at her once, when she'd accidentally mixed his medications up – before he'd gotten to the point where he either didn't know the difference or didn't care – and _nearly killed him_ as he so dramatically put it.

But god if she has to rub Bengay on him one more time, she's going to rip her eyeballs out.

Suddenly he grunts, and Santana raises a disgusted eyebrow as he says, "That's a hot piece," while palming his useless crotch through the khaki pants he always insists on wearing. Santana turns to the TV, expecting to see one of the models; instead, she sees a commercial for LifeAlert featuring an older woman lying on the floor in agony, and she rolls her eyes and turns away. "Maria," he says, calling her back and okay that is another thing that _really_ needs to stop.

Her goddamn name is Santana, but no matter how many times she's told him that, he still calls her Maria.

Fuck Brian Pierce.

Santana clenches her fists and turns back to him on her heel. He's attempting to lift the lunch tray from his lap. "What?" She asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but fully aware that she still sounds impatient. "You done?" He nods and gestures for her to take the tray away.

As Santana does the dishes, listening to Drew Carey's voice float in from the living room, she fights off the memories that always bombard her when she does mundane things. Washing dishes, watching TV, getting ready for bed…every day, they conjure up memories, always reminding Santana of how utterly empty and alone she feels.

Tears swell in her eyes as she recalls Pierce's words.

_I always get what I want, Santana_.

In the end did he get what he wanted? She's out of the way, and Santana knows that Brittany was probably pissed at first, but really how long would that have lasted? She loved Santana, sure, but Brian Pierce was her father.

Has she forgiven him?

Has she moved on?

Santana grips the edge of the sink tightly, her wet hands dripping water all over the floor.

Brittany gave her so much in their limited time together. She taught Santana to read, to write…she taught her what real love feels like.

Even though they'll likely never see each other again, she'll always love Brittany.

Santana breathes in and out deeply, forcing the thoughts back once again.

\-----

Brittany stares at the front of the house that she hasn't seen in five months.

She hadn't told Shannon where she was going, merely letting the woman sleep on, risking the lecture she's sure to get; Shannon would only try to talk Brittany out of this, or at the very least insist on coming with her.

No. This is something that Brittany needs to do alone.

Her search has hit a dead end; no one at the packed auction houses that she's scouted have seen or heard of a Latina slave by the name of Santana Lopez, and the sales records for her mysteriously end the day that Pierce bought her; for some reason, the last transaction five months ago had not been recorded for Santana, though the others from that night were all there.

She knows that he's done something to keep Santana off of the radar, she just can't figure out what it is.

As much as she hates it – hates _him_ \- she needs his help.

She's tired of paying rent to the Berry's. She's tired of sharing a cramped sofa bed with Shannon. She's ready to move on from Lima, and she can't do that until Santana is in her arms again.

Taking one last deep breath, Brittany knocks on the door firmly. She knows he's home by the car in the driveway, so when he doesn't come to the door after several moments, her temper flares. She beats the flat side of her fist against the door, over and over again until the door finally bursts open.

Her father is disheveled, as though he's just woken up, and it hasn't occurred to her until this moment that it's seven on a Saturday morning.

His eyes widen when he sees her, taking in her appearance, and she allows it. She hadn't worn makeup for this exact reason; she wants him to see how miserable he's made her.

She's pale, deathly so, with sunken cheeks and dark bags under her eyes. The t-shirt she's wearing used to fit her perfectly; now it hangs heavily from her frame, swamping her and giving the illusion that she's smaller than she actually is.

She can't remember her last shower, and yeah okay the smell that had bothered her in the car might _actually_ be her, now that she's thinking about it.

When his shocked eyes find her face again, she gestures past him. "Can I come in?" She asks, voice hollow.

He nods quickly and hurries to step aside. "You know you didn't have to knock," he says quietly. Once she's passed him, he closes the door. She sweeps the house quickly with her eyes, noting how nothing has changed before turning towards him.

Brittany shrugs one shoulder. "This isn't my home, so…"

He wrings his hands nervously and swallows. He looks like he's been drinking, Brittany notices, but other than gaining a bit of a beer belly and dark eye bags, he still looks the same as he did five months again.

It pisses her off.

"This will always be your home," he whispers. He moves to hug her, tears in his eyes, but she steps back, holding her hand up.

"Don't fucking touch me," she warns, and he steps back in surprise. "You know why I'm here."

He casts his eyes to the floor solemnly; he'd known this day would come, he had just thought it would have happened sooner. He glances back up to her, then flits his eyes around the entryway, not meeting her eyes.

"Do you really hate me?"

Brittany thinks this is a waste of time, but she doesn't hesitate to nod. "A little more every day." His eyes drop to the floor again. "I'm not going to stop looking for her," she says, low, dangerous, so unlike her. "It won't completely fix things, but it would be a good start if you would make this easier for me…if you would tell me where she is." She thinks a part of her is still hoping that he's just…hiding Santana.

He shakes his head, looking regretful. "I don't know." A tear hits her cheek; it had been a long shot, but she couldn't help but get her hopes up. She moves to leave, but Brian grabs her elbow lightly. She tenses and resists the urge to jerk away from her father. "But I can tell you one thing, baby."

"If it pertains to anything other than Santana, I don't care." He looks her straight in the eye for the first time in months; he is obviously a haunted man, and she can't help but feel a little satisfaction. He breathes a deep sigh, and she's growing increasingly impatient with his silence. She's moving to leave again when he speaks again.

"Her name is Maria Ramos."

\-----

Santana looks out into the jeering crowd. She's not sure how she'd gotten here, on the auction house stage, it had all happened so fast; she thought they were going to the pool for a family day.

But now she's here, separated from her mother.

Santana looks around the guard that's holding onto her arm tightly as the auctioneer jabbers on. She can't see her mother anywhere, and she begins to panic again.

"Mami?" She yells out frantically. It only manages to encourage the laughter of the crowd. "Papi?"

And there he is, backlit by the stage lighting. She smiles, relieved to see him; maybe her papi can explain what's going on.

"Papi," she calls out to him, fighting against the strong man still holding her arm. "Papi, what's going on?" He steps forward, allowing her to finally see his face.

Only this man isn't her papi.

It's Brian Pierce.

He looks at her with cold, dead blue eyes. "I always get what I want, Santana."

Santana widens her eyes and shakes her head slowly as the guard begins to pull her away. "No!" She screams, and her words echo around her. "No! Brittany!"

And there she is, struggling against Pierce and another guard, her face desperate as she reaches out for Santana. "Santana!" She yells. She begins to cry, tears seeping from her shimmering eyes. "No, Santana! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby. I love you! Don't you _ever_ forget that I love you, Santana!"

Santana struggles harder, her efforts tearing her eyes from Brittany's, but when she realizes that it's hopeless, her eyes look up, trying to find Brittany's again; her girl is gone, but Brittany's pleading voice remains, echoing around Santana, and Santana wants so desperately to tell her that she loves her too, that she'll always love her, but –

Santana jerks awake, her breaths coming in heavy, labored pants. She's kicked her sheet off, exposing her bare legs to the bedroom, but the hoodie she's wearing – Brittany's hoodie – is making sweat pour down her body.

After she's regained her bearings, remembering that she's in her bedroom – alone – at Mr. Del Monico's house, Santana glances at her bedside clock.

1:03 a.m.

She's only been in bed for a couple of hours, but she knows that she won't be going back to sleep anytime soon.

Santana grunts as she sits up and pulls off the hoodie. She lays it on the pillow that she'd been hugging, planning to leave it off only long enough for her body to cool down – she'll probably have to end up washing it soon, she thinks regretfully. She lays flat on her back, staring at the dark ceiling as her naked chest heaves, attempting to return her breathing to normal.

The nightmares had returned, and they were the same as always, forcing her to relive her first time on the auction house stage, the fear and confusion and heartbreak. 

Only, it was no longer her mother that she was being ripped from, no longer her mother screaming that she loves Santana while Santana couldn't even say it back.

No, now it's Brittany. Brittany she's being ripped from. Brittany struggling to reach her. Brittany screaming that she loves her, begging her to never forget.

Brittany not getting to hear the words returned one last time.

A sob rips through her before she can control it. She reaches over for the hoodie and slips it over her head. She pulls the sheet back up to her hips, covering her bare legs and underwear, then turns to her side.

She sinks into the collar of the hoodie, letting the familiar scent envelope her as she cries herself to sleep once more.

\-----

Brittany sits in her car, air conditioner on full blast, and glares up at the house that – prior to today – she's only seen on Google Maps.

She swallows hard; she'd debated for a long time over whether to ask someone else to do this (Tina, maybe, or Sam), fearing that her temper would get the better of her or that she'd lose her composure.

Crying hysterically, decking the occupants of the house, or all of the above would not bode well for the situation.

In the end, she had made the decision to do this herself; Brittany wants to make sure, to see it with her own eyes. She wouldn't be able to stand pacing in the hotel room, waiting for the news.

Taking one last deep breath, Brittany moves to open her door.

A hand lands lightly on her forearm, and Brittany pauses curiously. "Can I come with you?" Her passenger asks eagerly, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please?" Brittany stares into dark brown eyes, so different yet so familiar; she's going to cave, staring into their depths. She's going to agree to allow them to come with her. Unless…

To her immense relief, Mike slides forward in the back seat, his kind eyes capturing the other's. "I think that it would be best if Britt and I went in alone," he says softly, and Brittany reminds herself to thank him later for saving her.

Their passenger seems to want to argue, but thinks better of it, knowing that they are lucky to even have been allowed to tag along; Brittany had wanted them to stay in the hotel room, and the trio had wasted nearly ten minutes arguing about it. Their hand leaves Brittany's arm and reaches back for Mike. He takes the hand and squeezes it comfortingly.

"We’ll be as quick as possible," Brittany promises.

They nod, and Mike and Brittany quickly exit the vehicle, stepping into the sweltering Kentucky heat.

Mike adjusts his suit jacket, Brittany her blouse, and they meet at the end of the paved pathway leading to the front door.

"How's my makeup?" She'd worn a little more than she normally would to hide the signs of stress and heartache she's accumulated over the past five months, and she's afraid that it will literally melt off in this goddamn humidity.

Mike inspects her face carefully as he tightens his tie. "Its fine, but it won't be for long," he jokes, and Brittany groans miserably; it's _so_ hot.

Once they're in front of the door, Mike asks, "You ready for this?" He smoothes his hair down, then re-checks first his shirt collar, then the lapels of his suit jacket. She can tell that he's nervous, and she's relieved that she's not the only one; they've never done anything like this before – Rachel's the actress of the group – and they have no idea what sort of conditions await them inside the house.

Brittany draws a deep breath before answering. "I have never been more ready for anything in my life."

She reaches out and presses the doorbell.

\-----

_Oh god_ this soap opera could not get any more boring and contrived if it tried. Santana stretches along the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. It's too far away for her fingers to grasp and she huffs in annoyance; she's too comfortable to move, her head resting on her rolled up hoodie, so she resigns herself to tuning the drama out and catching a quick nap.

With Mr. Del Monico napping upstairs, Santana has the entire first floor of the house to herself. Just the way she likes it.

And all she wants to do is sleep.

(And hopefully never wake up.)

Just as Santana is drifting off, the doorbell rings.

She pops her eyes open, now thoroughly irritated. She runs through the list of possible visitors in her head.

It can't be the mail carrier or a package delivery; she's already seen both trucks go through today.

It's not Terri; she always calls ahead of time with an outrageous list of demands. It's entirely possible that it could be Kendra, Terri's sister, but Santana knows that there's only a small chance; her kids have school, so it makes no sense for her to make an unannounced appearance in the middle of the day.

The doorbell rings again and Santana jumps up to answer the door before it wakes Mr. Del Monico.

Santana shucks her hoodie on, fixes her face into an annoyed glare, and swings the door open.

Brown eyes find blue, and her breath catches, her glare falters.

Did she fall asleep? Is this another dream?

Or could it be that Brittany is actually standing on Mr. Del Monico's doorstep, dressed smartly in a black mid-thigh pencil skirt and white blouse, her hair in a high ponytail?

Even though she's holding a pretty good stony façade, Brittany looks like she could fall at Santana's feet sobbing, and Santana knows that she wouldn't be far behind. Her makeup is quite heavy, but Santana can see her dark eye bags, her sunken cheeks, both matching Santana's own.

She's been hurting just as much as Santana.

This isn't a dream, then; in her dreams, Brittany is always the Brittany from five months ago, healthy and well-rested.

This is real.

Reluctantly, she slides her eyes to Brittany's equally silent companion. Mike is dressed just as sharply, his hair gelled down instead of spiked like she's used to, his black three-piece suit and red tie fitting him perfectly, and his briefcase swinging by his side. He smiles at her briefly and winks before his hard mask falls over his face once more.

Santana looks back to Brittany, completely speechless and baffled. Is she allowed to hug Brittany? To jump into her arms and never let go? To beg her to please, please take Santana with her? She doesn't know since she doesn't belong to Brittany anymore, and Brittany…is acting strangely professional right now.

She has so many questions she wants to ask, so many things she wants to do, but she senses an angle of some sort here, a game so delicate that it could be ruined with the tiniest wrong move.

She doesn't care what's going on as long as she gets to leave with Brittany.

As they stand staring at each other, Brittany begins to feel insecurity creep in, wondering if this plan will actually work. She's read that the man – Mr. Del Monico – has the beginnings of Alzheimer's disease, and she hopes that he's not too far gone to understand what is happening here.

After coming so close – the closest she's been in five months – and actually physically seeing her beautiful Santana, failing now will kill her.

She _can't_ lose Santana again.

Her father's revelation - _of course_ he'd changed Santana's fucking name, that is so like him – had made her search significantly easier; it had taken less than a week for Brittany and Mike to track down Maria Ramos.

Though obviously tired and having lost some weight, Santana looks very much unharmed, and Brittany allows a sigh of relief.

Now she has to somehow remain upright and control her tears and her urge to jump forward, wrap Santana into her arms, and refuse to let go.

She'd known that all of her emotions would hit her once she saw Santana, she just hadn't counted on them being this…strong.

And oh god Santana is still wearing Brittany's hoodie.

Oh god Brittany's going to cry.

Oh god.

A clatter on the stairs distracts them all, and Santana's head snaps around to watch Mr. Del Monico fumbling down them. She glances at Brittany one last time, afraid that if she looks away for too long she'll disappear, before rushing up the remaining stairs to assist her goddamn elderly Master before he falls and breaks his fucking neck.

Her eyes never leave Brittany's, though, and when Mr. Del Monico asks, "Who was that, Maria?" she sees Brittany's jaw clench. Santana's jaw works soundlessly for a few seconds, unsure of what to tell him, but she's saved when they reach the bottom of the stairs and he sees his guests. "Can I help you?" He asks them, eyes squinting, like he's trying to remember if he knows them or not.

No one speaks for long seconds, and Santana sees Mike elbow Brittany subtly. She shakes her head slightly, tears her eyes away from Santana, and sticks her hand out. Mr. Del Monico shakes it as she says, "Hello, Mr. Del Monico, my name is Brittany S. Pierce, and this is my attorney, Michael Chang." Santana raises her eyebrows; really, what angle are these two playing? "We have an important matter to discuss with you."

Mike thrusts a business card out a little too enthusiastically, and Mr. Del Monico jumps back slightly before taking it. "And what would that matter be?" He asks while looking over the card; Brittany hopes that he doesn't notice that it's not professionally made.

"Your slave," Brittany says, and Santana catches her faltering over the words, struggling to remain professional.

Mr. Del Monico turns to narrow his eyes at Santana briefly; she shrugs internally, completely unaffected, knowing he can't physically do anything, and he'll more than likely have forgotten all of this by the next time he talks to Terri. "What has she done?"

"She hasn't done anything," Brittany says, her words clipped, not liking the way he's looking at Santana. "But unfortunately, your daughter has. May we come in?"

At the mention of Terri – whom Mr. Del Monico loves unconditionally despite her constantly foisting him off onto others – he rushes them into the house and towards the kitchen.

"Could we maybe…" Brittany trails off, her eyes cutting to Santana, who had been following close behind her. "Could we do this privately?" She asks him pointedly; she doesn't want Santana around if this plan fails; she couldn't bear seeing the heartbreak before she can come up with a Plan B.

Mr. Del Monico turns and snaps his fingers in Santana's direction before gesturing upwards. "Go to your room," he orders, and wow okay he's not her father so that's not gonna fly.

Santana stands her ground, her gaze shifting from her Master to Mike and finally to Brittany. After a few seconds, Brittany nods discreetly, her face cracking finally into a very tiny smile, and Santana relents, turning on her heel slowly.

"But first," Brittany rushes out before Santana can leave the room. "May I use your restroom?"

Mr. Del Monico breaks from his small talk with Mike and grunts. "Maria," he says. "Show Miss…show her to the bathroom."

Santana tenses as Brittany follows her closely out of the kitchen, unsure of what to expect, from Brittany or from herself.

As soon as they're out of sight of the kitchen, though, Brittany latches onto her hand tightly and Santana nearly crumbles.

She feels like she's finally home.

Santana drags Brittany up the stairs, slowly losing her composure with each step she takes.

When they reach the top, Brittany tugs on Santana's hand, forcing her to face her, trusting Mike to keep Mr. Del Monico occupied.

Tears are already spilling down Santana's cheeks, her chin trembling pitifully, and the sight makes Brittany's tears well to the surface. "I don't have to use the bathroom," she admits quietly, and Santana spins around quickly and begins to drag Brittany down the hall.

Once they reach her bedroom, she closes the door as quietly as possible and locks it. When she turns around, Brittany has Santana wrapped up in her arms instantly.

Santana clings to her tightly, sobbing into Brittany's chest. "I miss you so much," she chokes out as Brittany strokes her hair. "Oh god, please Brittany, don't leave me here. _Please_."

"I don't know what he told you," Brittany says, her voice strained. "But whatever it was, it's a lie. I love you. I love you so much and I never, _never_ stopped looking for you." Brittany pulls away and cups Santana's cheeks.

Santana smiles brightly at her, her chest finally feeling light, like it used to so many months ago. "I love you too, Britt," she sighs, laying her hands over Brittany's to keep them on her face.

Brittany's face suddenly turns serious. "Has he touched you?" She demands. "In any way?" She sighs when Santana smiles and shakes her head. "Okay. Good." She lays her forehead on Santana's, pressing against her tightly.

Santana's eyes slip closed, reveling in having Brittany near her once more. "Britt," she breathes. "Please kiss me. It's been so fucking long."

Brittany whines low in her throat, her hands slipping down to grip Santana's hips roughly, holding her body closer. "I want to," she whispers. "I want to so bad, but if I mess up my make-up-"

"Fuck Britt he won't fucking notice," Santana cries. She wraps her hand around the back of Brittany's neck and tugs her down.

When their lips finally meet, they moan in sync, and where Santana would normally be shy with such an act, she thrusts her tongue forward, not asking permission before delving straight into Brittany's waiting mouth.

She just needs Brittany so much closer.

Suddenly, Santana feels tears that are not her own wetting her face, and Brittany tears her mouth away from Santana's to sob. She bends over, pressing her face into Santana's warm neck and ghosting her hands under Santana's hoodie and shirt to lay flat on the hot skin of her back. Santana grips at the back of her head, holding Brittany close as they cry into each other's necks.

"One way or another," Brittany says lowly, pulling back to look Santana in the eye. "You are going home with me today. I _swear_ it. Because I can't lose you again. I _can't_." Santana nods eagerly, more than ready to go _home_. "Okay." She takes a deep breath and turns her eyes to the ceiling to push her tears back again. "You stay here." Santana shakes her head, panicking, afraid that if Brittany leaves the room without her she'll never see her again. "Please. I promise you, with everything that I am, I'll come back for you."

Santana whimpers and tightens her hold on Brittany slightly. "Please, just…hurry back," she begs.

Brittany pecks her on the lips, then on the forehead, then on the lips once more before reluctantly pulling away. Santana opens the door and swallows hard as she watches Brittany descend the stairs.

Before she's out of sight, she turns and blows Santana a kiss, her smile small and sad.

She turns back when Santana's face crumples and makes her way forward; god, she hopes this works.

\-----

"So you see, Mr. Del Monico," Mike says, summarizing their meeting. "Maria Ramos was stolen from my client by her father." He pauses, letting his words sink in, and Mr. Del Monico furrows his brows and nods, listening intently. "Terri bought Maria from Mr. Pierce, and since she's stolen property, the transaction is void."

Mr. Del Monico clasps his hands together on top of the kitchen table, and Brittany holds her breath as he begins to look over the documents spread before him once more. "So what you're saying is…"

"Legally, Sa-" Brittany catches herself before she can tell him Santana's real name; their plan was to refer to her as Maria, hoping that once she was back with them and they changed her name back, she couldn't be tracked by Terri. "Maria still belongs to me." He's silent for long moments, and Brittany loses her patience; they've been going over this for well over two hours, and though she knows that he needs a little more time to let this absorb with his condition, all she wants is to get Santana and go home – plus the person waiting in her car is probably getting pretty antsy. "We could take this to court, Mr. Del Monico, I have no problem with that. But I think that you are fully aware that that will not end in your favor."

Mike kicks her hard under the table, but she ignores him and the pain in her shin, choosing instead to watch the gears turn in Mr. Del Monico's head.

"My father is guilty of theft of a slave," she tacks on when he doesn't reply. "A very serious crime, punishable by many years in prison. A judge will not hesitate to see this and force you to return Maria to me."

Mr. Del Monico chuckles and leans back in his chair, appearing impressed with her attitude. "You came all the way from Lima, Ohio?" Mike and Brittany nod and he chuckles again. "Why do you care about this slave so much, Miss Pierce?"

Brittany clenches her jaw. "Does it matter?" He raises an eyebrow and she sighs irritably; he reminds her a bit of her grandfather, and she feels guilty being mean to him. "She's…she's special, can we just leave it at that?"

Mr. Del Monico rubs his face, attempting to hide a smirk. "I just want one thing." Brittany's heart drops, dreading his demand; it could be any number of things, and it worries her. "Would it be possible…for me to get my daughter's money back?"

Brittany sighs, relieved, and nods. Mike produces a wad of cash from his suit jacket.

As she had been leaving her father's house, he stopped her at the door, pressing the bills into her hand with remorseful eyes.

He hadn't spent a penny of what he'd received for Santana, and Brittany knows that he had been expecting instant forgiveness, but she'd only gotten angrier.

All of this nonsense had been for absolutely nothing.

Mr. Del Monico rises and leaves the room, and Brittany clutches Mike's hand under the table, both silent as they wait for him to return. When he does only a minute or so later, he lays something on the table and slides it towards them.

Santana's ownership papers.

Brittany scoops them up quickly at the same time that Mike hands over the money. She folds the papers and hands them to Mike, since she doesn't have pockets. They shake hands with Mr. Del Monico and clean up their documents, leaving one envelope out addressed to Terri Del Monico; it contains documents explaining the situation, something they'd thought of ahead of time due to Mr. Del Monico's condition.

When they're finished, Brittany rushes from the room and up the stairs.

She's ready to get her girl and go home.

\-----

Santana's pacing nervously, hands wringing together, when there's a strong knock on her bedroom door. She rushes to it and flings it open, not caring when it bounces loudly off the wall.

Brittany's glowing face tells her all she needs to know and Santana pounces on her, wrapping her arms around Brittany's neck and head, and her legs around Brittany's waist. Brittany holds her up by her thighs and presses a kiss to the side of Santana's neck as she cries.

"Let's go home, baby."

\-----

Mike and Mr. Del Monico are waiting by the door when they descend the stairs hand in hand. Mr. Del Monico smirks knowingly and offers Santana a small nod. She returns the gesture, but offers him no other acknowledgments; she'd been slightly worried at first about what would happen to him once she was gone – sure he was a Master and not the friendliest person, but he had never hurt her, so she thinks he must be at least half-decent – but Brittany had assured her that he would be taken care of.

He bids them farewell and all but shuts the door in their faces. They step away from it a bit before Santana turns to face Brittany and Mike. "What happens if he calls the number on that business card?"

Brittany claps a hand over her mouth and giggles, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Then Rachel's acting skills will really be put to the test."

"Or Mr. Del Monico's patience will," Mike grumbles, and Brittany only laughs harder.

Santana rolls her eyes and grips Brittany's hand tighter. "Okay, okay, well wait. What if this little plan hadn't worked?" She quizzes again; she's eager to find out everything she's missed in the last five months, but she really wants to know about this plan of theirs.

Brittany waves her free hand in a noncommittal gesture. "Oh, that's easy," she lies. "Mike and I were going to storm the house in ski masks and kidnap you."

Santana forces down a grin. "How romantic," she deadpans.

Suddenly, Mike and Brittany go very still, both staring at something over Santana's shoulder with unreadable expressions. Her eyes widen as fear rises in her. She turns quickly to find the threat, but only finds someone standing several feet away by Brittany's car.

Santana's eyes bulge, her mouth drops open.

"Mami?"

\-----

Brittany glances at Santana and Maribel in her rearview mirror as she drives them back to their hotel.

She wants to catch up with Santana, to hold her and love her.

But Maribel has been away from Santana longer. And no matter how much Brittany needs Santana, Santana needs her mother more right now.

Santana's eyes light up even more when she looks in the floorboard and spots her shoes – the same pair she'd left at Brittany's five months ago. She slips them on, then reaches forward to squeeze Brittany's arm affectionately in silent thanks.

"We did it," Mike says quietly over the center console, not wishing to disturb the excited chatter from the back seat.

Brittany nods, her eyes on the road. "Yeah," she breathes. "We did it." She reaches over to take his hand. "Thank you for everything you've done. Thank you so much." He squeezes her hand and remains silent.

Later, once everyone has calmed down, and she and Santana are the only two awake, Brittany will pull the Freedom Contract from her bag and give it to Santana.

And they'll finally begin their lives. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have requested one-shots from the universe of scenes that were omitted that they wanted to see, so look for those in the near-ish future. Once again, I want to thank everyone for sticking with me through this journey; it's been incredible!


End file.
